^OF-CAIIFOJ 
S         ' 


HOME 


LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS 


BT  T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

AUTHOB    OF   ••  LIFTS   PICTURES,"    "  OLD   MAN'S    B1UDE,"    AND 
"SPARING   TO   SPEND." 


PHILADELPHIA : 

J.    W.    BRADLEY, 

48  N.  FOURTH  STBEET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Consress  in  the  ye.ir  1853,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  th« 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


Jfcow  at  the  word.;  a  crowd  of 
pleasant  iJ^n^hts  awaken.  What  sun-bright 
images  are  pictured  to  the  imagination. 
Yet,  there  is  no  home  without  its  shadows 
as  well  as  sunshine.  Love  makes  the  home- 
lights  and  selfishness  the  shadows.  Ah  ! 
how  dark  the  shadow  at  times — how  faint 
and  fleeting  the  sunshine.  How  often  sel- 
fishness towers  up  to  a  giant  height,  barring 
but  from  our  dwellings  every  golden  ray. 
There  are  few  of  us,  who  do  not,  at  times, 
darken  with  our  presence  the  homes  that 
should  grow  bright  at  our  coming.  It  is 
sad  to  acknowledge  this ;  yet,  in  the  very 


2057012 


IV.  PREFACE. 

acknowledgement  is  a  promise  of  better 
things,  for,  it  is  rarely  that  we  confess, 
without  a  resolution  to  overcome  the  .evil 
that  mars  our  own  and  others'  happiness 
Need  we  say,  that  the  book  now  presented 
to  the  reader  is  designed  to  aid  in  the  work 
of  overcoming  what  is  evil  and  selfish,  that 
home-lights  mry  dispel  horr  e-shadows,  and 
keep  them  forever  from  our  dwellings. 


CONTENTS. 


RIGHTS  AND  WRONGS      ....  7 

THE  HUMBLED  PHARISEE             *        «  30 

ROMANCE  AND  REALITY                     .         .  44 

BOTH  TO  BLAME          .                  .         .  72 

IT'S  NONE  OP  MY  BUSINESS           .  .       '.  •  89 

THE  MOTHER'S  PROMISE                       .  115 

THE  TWO  HUSBANDS        .         .         .         .  126 

VISITING  AS  NEIGHBORS       .                 .  164 

NOT  AT  HOME        .•       .        *                 .  191 

THE  FATAL  ERROR    .         .         .  204 

FOLLOWING  THE  FASHIONS       .         .         .  217 

A  DOLLAR  ON  THE  CONSCIENCE  .  237 

AUNT  MARY'S  SUGGESTION      .         .         .  249 

HELPING  THE  POOR     ....  261 

COMMON  PEOPLE              .         .        .         .  279 

MAKING  A  SENSATION     ....  299 

SOMETHING  FOR  A  COLD          .         .         .  328 

THE  PORTRAIT 337 

VERY  POOR                     .  361 


BIGHTS    AND    WRONGS. 


IT  is  a  little  singular — yet  certainly  true — that 
people  who  are  very  tenacious  of  their  own 
rights,  and  prompt  in  maintaining  them,  usually 
have  rather  vague  notions  touching  the  rights  of 
others.  Like  the  too  eager  merchant,  in  securing 
their  own,  they  are  very  apt  to  get  a  little  more 
than  belongs  to  them. 

Mrs.  Barbara  TJhler  presented  a  notable  in- 
stance of  this.  We  cannot  exactly  class  her  with 
the  "strong-minded"  women  of  the  day.  But  she 
had  quite  a  leaning  in  that  direction ;  and  if  not 
very  strong-minded  herself,  was  so  unfortunate  as 


8  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

to  number  among  her  intimate  friends  two  or  three 
ladies  who  had  a  fair  title  to  the  distinction. 

Mrs.  Barbara  Uhler  was  a  wife  and  a  mother 
She  was  also  a  woman ;  and  her  consciousness  of 
this  last  named  fact  was  never  indistinct,  nor  ever 
unmingled  with  a  belligerent  appreciation  of  the 
rights  appertaining  to  her  sex  and  position. 

As  for  Mr.  Herman  Uhler,  he  was  looked  upon, 
abroad,  as  a  mild,  reasonable,  good  sort  of  a  man, 
At  home,  however,  he  was  held  in  a  very  differ- 
ent estimation.  The  "  wife  of  his  bosom"  re- 
garded him  as  an  exacting  domestic  tyrant ;  and, 
in  opposing  his  will,  she  only  fell  back,  as  she 
conceived,  upon  the  first  and  most  sacred  law  of 
her  nature.  As  to  "  obeying"  him,  she  had  scout- 
ed that  idea  from  the  beginning.  The  words, 
"  honor  and  obey,"  in  the  marriage  service,  she 
had  always  declared,  would  have  to  be  omitted 
when  she  stood  at  the  altar.  But  as  she  had,  in 
her  maidenhood,  a  very  strong  liking  for  the 
handsome  young  Mr.  Uhler,  and,  as  she  could 
not  obtain  so  material  a  change  in  the  church 
ritual,  as  the  one  needed  to  meet  her  case,  she 
wisely  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  went  to  the 
altar  with  her  lover.  The  difficulty  was  reconciled 
to  her  own  conscience  by  a  mental  reservation. 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  9 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  above  all  other  of  the 
obligations  here  solemnly  entered  into,  this  one, 
not  to  honor  and  obey  her  husband,  ever  after 
remained  prominent  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Barbara 
Uhler.  And  it  was  no  fruitless  sentiment,  as  Mi- 
Herman  Uhler  could  feelingly  testify. 

From  the  beginning  it  was  clearly  apparent  to 
Mrs.  Uhler  that  her  husband  expected  too  much 
from  her;  that  he  regarded  her  as  a  kind  of  upper 
servant  in  his  household,  and  that  he  considered 
himself  as  having  a  right  to  complain  if  things 
were  not  orderly  and  comfortable.  At  first,  she 
met  his  looks  or  words  of  displeasure,  when  his 
meals,  for  instance,  were  late,  or  so  badly  cooked 
as  to  be  unhealthy  and  unpalatable,  with — 

"  I'm  sorry,  dear ;  but  I  can't  help  it." 
'  "  Are  you  sure  you  can't  help  it,  Barbara  ?" 
Mr.  Uhler  at  length  ventured  to  ask,  in  as  mild  a 
tone  of  voice  as  his  serious  feelings  on  the  subject 
would  enable  him  to  assume. 

Mrs.  Uhler's  face  flushed  instantly,  and  she  an- 
swered, with  dignity : 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Uhler  " 

It  was  the  first  time,  in  speaking  to  her  hus» 
band,  that  she  had  said  "  Mr.  Uhler,"  in  her  life 


10  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

— the  first  time  she  had  ever  looked  at  him  with 
so  steady  and  defiant  an  aspect. 

Now,  we  cannot  say  how  most  men  would  have 
acted  under  similar  circumstances ;  we  can  only 
record  what  Mr.  Uhler  said  and  did : 

"  And  I  am  not  sure,  Mrs.  Uhler,"  was  his 
prompt,  impulsive  reply,  drawing  himself  up,  and 
looking  somewhat  sternly  at  his  better  half. 

"  You  are  not  ?"  said  Mrs.  Uhler ;  and  she 
compressed  her  lips  tightly. 

"  I  am  not,"  was  the  emphatic  response. 

"  And  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do,  pray  ?" 
came  next  from  the  lady's  lips. 

"Do  as  I  do  in  my  business,"  answered  the 
gentleman.  "  Have  competent  assistance,  or  see 
that  things  are  done  right  yourself." 

"  Go  into  the  kitchen  and  cook  the  dinner,  you 
mean,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  You  can  put  my  meaning  into  any  form  of 
words  you  please,  Barbara.  You  have  charge 
of  this  household,  and  it  is  your  place  to  see  that 
everything  due  to  the  health  and  comfort  of  its 
inmates  is  properly  cared  for.  If  those  to  whom 
you  delegate  so  important  a  part  of  domestic 
economy  as  the  preparation  of  food,  are  ignorant 
or  careless,  surely  it  is  your  duty  to  go  into  the 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  11 

kitchen  daily,  and  see  that  it  is  properly  done 
I  never  trust  wholly  to  any  individual  in  my 
employment.  There  is  no  department  of  the 
business  to  which  I  do  not  give  personal  atten- 
tion. Were  I  to  do  so  my  customers  would  pay 
little  regard  to  excuses  about  ignorant  work 
men  and  careless  clerks.  They  would  soon 
seek  their  goods  in  another  and  better  conduct- 
ed establishment." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  seek  your  dinners 
elsewhere,  if  they  are  so  little  to  your  fancy  at 
home." 

This  was  the  cool,  defiant  reply  of  the  outraged 
Mrs.  TJhler. 

Alas,  for  Mr.  Herman  Uhler ;  he  had,  so  far 
as  his  wife  was  concerned,  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin ;  and  the  consequences  visited 
upon  his  transgression  were  so  overwhelming  that 
he  gave  up  the  struggle  in  despair.  Contention 
with  such  an  antagonist,  he  saw,  from  the  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  would  be  utterly  disastrous. 
While  little  was  to  be  gained,  everything  was  in 
danger  of  being  lost. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  was  his  repeated 
answer  to  the  running  fire  which  his  wife  kept  up 
against  him  for  a  long  time.  "  You  are  mistress 


12  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

of  the  house ;  act  your  own  pleasure.  Thank  you 
for  the  suggestion  about  dinner.  I  may  find  it 
convenient  to  act  thereon." 

The  last  part  of  this  sentence  was  extorted  by 
the  continued  irritating  language  of  Mrs.  Uhler. 
Its  utterance  rather  cooled  the  lady's  indignant 
ardor,  and  checked  the  sharp  words  that  were 
rattling  from  her  tongue.  A  truce  to  open 
warfare  was  tacitly  agreed  upon  between  the 
parties.  The  antagonism  was  not,  however,  the 
less  real.  Mrs.  Uhler  knew  that  her  husband 
expected  of  her  a  degree  of  personal  attention 
to  household  matters  that  she  considered  degrad- 
ing to  her  condition  as  a  wife ;  and,  because  he 
expected  this,  she,  in  order  to  maintain  the  dignity 
of  her  position,  gave  even  less  attention  to  these 
matters  than  would  otherwise  have-been  the  case. 
Of  course,  under  such  administration  of  domestic 
affairs,  causes  for  dissatisfaction  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Uhler,  were  ever  in  existence.  For  the 
most  part  he  bore  up  under  them  with  com- 
mendable patience ;  but,  there  were  times  when 
weak  human  nature  faltered  by  the  way — when, 
from  heart  fulness  the  mouth  would  speak.  This 
was  but  to  add  new  fuel  to  the  flame.  Thia 
only  gave  to  Mrs.  Uhler  a  ground  of  argument 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  13 

against  her  husband  as  an  unreasonable,  oppres- 
sive tyrant ;  as  one  of  the  large  class  of  men  who 
not  only  regard  woman  as  inferior,  but  who,  in 
all  cases  of  weak  submission,  hesitate  not  to  put 
a  foot  upon  her  neck. 

Some  of  the  female  associates,  among  whom 
Mrs.  Uhler  unfortunately  found  herself  thrown, 
were  loud  talkers  about  woman's  rights  and  man's 
tyranny ;  and  to  them,  with  a  most  unwife-like 
indelicacy  of  speech,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  allude 
to  her  husband  as  one  of  the  class  of  men  who 
would  trample  upon  a  woman  if  permitted  to  do 
so.  By  these  ladies  she  was  urged  to  maintain 
her  rights,  to  keep  ever  in  view  the  dignity  and 
elevation  of  her  sex,  and  to  let  man,  the  tyrant, 
know,  that  a  time  was  fast  approaching  when  his 
haughty  pride  would  be  humbled  to  the  dust 

And  so  Mrs,  Uhler,  under  this  kind  of 
stimulus  to  the  maintainance  of  her  own  rights 
against  the  imaginary  aggressions  of  her  husband, 
trampled  upon  his  rights  in  numberless  ways. 

As  time  wore  on,  no  change  for  the  better  oo 
curred.  A  woman  does  not  reason  to  just 
conclusions,  either  from  facts  or  abstract  prin- 
ciples like  man ;  but  takes,  for  the  most  part,  the 
directer  road  of  perception.  If,  therefore  her 


womanly  instincts  are  all  right,  her  conclusions 
will  be  true;  but  if  they  are  wrong,  false  judg- 
ment is  inevitable.  The  instincts  of  Mrs.  Uhler 
were  wrong  in  the  beginning,  and  she  was,  in 
consequence,  easily  led  by  her  associates,  into 
wrong  estimates  of  both  her  own  and  her  hus- 
band's position. 

One  day,  on  coming  home  to  dinner,  Mr.  Uhler 
was  told  by  a  servant,  that  his  wife  had  gone  to 
an  anti-slavery  meeting,  and  would  not  get  back 
till  evening,  as  she  intended  dining  with  a  friend. 
Mr.  Uhler  made  no  remark  on  receiving  this  in- 
formation. A  meagre,  badly-cooked  dinner  was 
served,  to  which  he  seated  himself,  alone,  not  to 
eat,  but  to  chew  the  cud  of  bitter  fancies.  Busi- 
ness, with  Mr.  Uhler,  had  not  been  very  pros- 
perous of  late ;  and  he  had  suffered  much  from  a 
feeling  of  discouragement.  Yet,  for  all  this,  his 
wife's  demands  for  money,  were  promptly  met — 
and  she  was  not  inclined  to  be  over  careful  as  to 
the  range  of  her  expenditures. 

There  was  a  singular  expression  on  the  face  ol 
Mr.  Uhler,  as  he  left  his  home  on  that  day. 
Some  new  purpose  had  been  formed  in  his  mind, 
or  some  good  principle  abandoned.  He  was  a 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS  15 

changed  man — changed  for  the  worse,  it  may  well 
be  feared. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Uhler 
returned.  To  have  inquired  of  the  servant  whe- 
ther Mr.  Uhler  had  made  any  remark,  when  he 
found  that  she  was  abse  nt  at  dinner  time,  she 
would  have  regarded  as  a  betrayal  to  that  per 
souage  of  a  sense  of  accountability  on  her  part. 
No;  she  stooped  not  to  any  inquiry  of  this  kind 
—  jom  promised  not  the  independence  of  the  indi- 
vidual. 

The  usual  tea  hour  was  at  hand — but,  strange 
to  say,  the  punctual  Mr.  TJhler  did  not  make  his 
appearance.  For  an  hour  the  table  stood  on  the 
floor,  awaiting  his  return,  but  he  came  not. 
Then  Mrs.  TJhler  gave  her  hungry,  impatient 
little  ones  their  suppers — singularly  enough,  she 
had  no  appetite  for  food  herself — and  sent  them 
to  bed.. 

Never  since  her  marriage  had  Mrs.  Uhler 
spent  so  troubled  an  evening  as  that  one  proved 
to  be.  A  dozen  times  she  rallied  herself — a 
dozen  times  she  appealed  to  her  independence 
and  individuality  as  a  woman,  against  the  o'er- 
shadowing  concern  about  her  husband,  which 
came  gradually  stealing  upon  her  mind.  And 
with  this  UD  comfortable  feeling  were  some  intru- 


16  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

ding  and  unwelcome  thoughts,  that  in  no  way 
stimulated  her  self-approval. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  Mr.  Uhler 
came  home ;  and  then  he  brought  in  his  clothes 
such  rank  fumes  of  tobacco,  and  his  breath  was 
so  tainted  with  brandy,  that  his  wife  had  no  need 
of  inquiry  as  to  where  he  had  spent  his  evening. 
His  countenance  wore  a  look  of  vacant  unconcern. 

"  Ah !  At  home,  are  you  ?"  said  he,  lightly, 
as  he  met  his  wife.  "  Did  you  have  a  pleasant 
day  of  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Uhler  was — frightened — shall  we  say  ? 
We  must  utter  the  word,  even  though  it  meet  the 
eyes  of  her  "  strong  minded"  friends,  who  will  be 
shocked  to  hear  that  one  from  whom  they  had 
hoped  so  much,  should  be  frightened  by  so  in- 
significant a  creature  as  a  husband.  Yes,  Mrs. 
Uhler  was  really  frightened  by  this  new  aspect  in 
which  her  husband  presented  himself.  She  felt 
that  she  was  in  a  dilemma,  to  which,  unhappily, 
there  was  not  a  single  horn,  much  less  choice  be- 
tween two. 

We  believe  Mrs.  Uhler  did  not  sleep  very  well 
during  the  night.  Her  husband,  however,  slept 
''  like  a  log."  On  the  next  morning,  her  brow  was 
overcast;  but  his  countenance  wore  a  careless 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  U 

aspect.  He  chatted  with  the  children  at  the 
breakfast  table,  goodnaturedly,  but  said  little  to 
his  wife,  who  had  penetration  enough  to  see  that 
he  was  hiding  his  real  feelings  under  an  assumed 
exterior. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  home  to  dinner  to-day  ?" 
said  Mr.  Uhler,  carelessly,  as  he  arose  from  the 
table.  He  had  only  sipped  part  of  a  cup  of  bad 
coffee. 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  was  the  rather  sharp  reply. 
The  question  irritated  the  lady. 

"You  needn't  on  my  account,"  said  Mr. 
Uhler.  "  I've  engaged  to  dine  at  the  Astor  with 
a  friend." 

"  Oh,  very  well  1"  Mrs.  Uhler  bridled  and 
looked  dignified.  Yet,  her  flashing  eyes  showed 
that  cutting  words  were  ready  to  leap  from  her 
tongue.  And  they  would  have  come  sharply 
on  the  air,  had  not  the  manner  of  her  husband 
been  so  unusual  and  really  mysterious.  In  a 
word,  a  vague  fear  kept  her  silent. 

Mr.  Uhler  went  to  his  store,  but  manifested 
little  of  his  usual  interest  and  activity.  Much 
that  he  had  Deen  in  the  habit  of  attending  to  per- 
sonally, he  delegated  to  clerks.  He  dined  at  the 
Astor,  and  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  there, 


18  HOME    LIGHTS    AN1J    SHADOWS 

smoking,  talking,  and  drinking.  At  tea-time  he 
came  home.  The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Uhler  sought  hia 
face  anxiously  as  he  came  in.  There  was  a  veil 
of  mystery  upon  it,  through  which  her  eyes  could 
not  penetrate.  Mr.  Uhler  remained  at  home  du- 
ring the  evening,  but  did  not  seem  to  be  himself. 
On  the  next  morning,  as  he  was  about  leaving 
the  house,  his  wife  said — 

"  Can  you  let  me  have  some  money  to-day  ?" 

Almost  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Mrs.  Uhler 
asked  this  question  in  a  hesitating  manner ;  and, 
for  the  first  time,  she  saw  that  her  request  was 
not  favorably  received. 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?"  inquired  the  hus- 
band. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  hundred  dollars,"  said 
Mrs.  Uhler. 

"  I'm  sorry ;  but  I  can't  let  you  have  it,"  waa 
answered.  <(  I  lost  five  hundred  dollars  day  be- 
fore yesterday  through  the  neglect  of  one  of  my 
clerks,  while  I  was  riding  out  with  some  friends." 

"  Riding  out !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Uhler. 

"  Yes.  You  can't  expect  me  to  be  always  tied 
down  to  business.  I  like  a  little  recreation  and 
pleasant  intercourse  with  friends  as  much  as  any 
one.  "Well,  you  see,  a  country  dealer,  who  owed 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  19 

me  five  hundred  dollars,  was  in  the  city,  and  pro 
mised  to  call  and  settle  on  the  afternoon  of  day 
before  yesterday.  I  explained  to  one  of  my  clerka 
what  he  must  do  when  the  customer  came  in, 
and,  of  course,  expected  all  to  be  done  right. 
Not  so,  however.  The  man,  when  he  found  that 
he  had  my  clerk,  and  not  me,  to  deal  with,  ob- 
jected to  some  unimportant  charge  in  his  bill,  and 
the  foolish  fellow,  instead  of  yielding  the  point, 
insisted  that  the  account  was  correct.  The  cus- 
tomer went  away,  and  paid  out  all  his  money  iji 
settling  a  bill  with  one  of  my  neighbors.  And 
so  I  got  nothing.  Most  likely,  I  shall  lose  the 
whole  account,  as  he  is  a  slippery  chap,  and  will, 
in  all  probability,  see  it  to  be  his  interest  to  make 
a  failure  between  this  and  next  spring.  I  just  wan- 
ted that  money  to-day.  Now  I  Shall  have  to  be 
running  around  half  the  morning  to  make  up  the 
sum  I  need." 

"  But  how  could  you  go  away  under  such  cir. 
cumstances,  and  trust  all  to  a  clerk  ?  said  Mrs. 
IJhler  warmly,  and  with  reproof  in  her  voice. 

"  How  could  I !"  was  the  quick  response. 
"  And  do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  tie  myself 
down  to  the  store  like  a  slave  !  You  ar«  mistak- 


20  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

en  if  you  do  ;  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  !     I  hire 
clerks  to  attend  to  ray  business." 

"  But  suppose  they  are  incompetent  ?  "What 
then  ?"  Mrs.  Uhler  was  very  earnest. 

"  That  doesn't  in  the  least  alter  my  character 
and  position."  Mr  Uhler  looked  his  wife  fixedly 
in  the  face  for  some  moments  after  saying  this, 
and  then  retired  from  the  house  without  further 
remark. 

The  change  in  her  husband,  which  Mrs.  Uhler 
at  first  tried  to  make  herself  believe  was  mere  as- 
sumption or  caprice,  proved,  unhappily,  a  per- 
manent state.  He  neglected  his  business  and  his 
home  for  social  companions  ;  and  whenever  asked 
by  his  wife  for  supplies  of  cash,  invariably  gave 
as  a  reason  why  he  could  not  supply  her  want, 
the  fact  of  some  new  loss  of  custom,  or  money, 
in  consequence  of  neglect,  carelessness,  or  incom- 
petency  of  clerks  or  workmen,  when  he  was  away, 
enjoying  himself. 

For  a  long  time,  Mrs.  Uhler's  independent 
spirit  struggled  against  the  humiliating  necessity 
that  daily  twined  its  coils  closer  and  closer 
around  her.  More  and  more  clearly  did  she  see, 
in  her  husband's  wrong  conduct,  a  reflection  of 
her  own  wrongdeeds  in  the  beginning.  It  was  hard 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  21 

for  her  to  acknowledge  that  she  had  been  in  error 
— even  to  herself.  But  conviction  lifted  before 
her  mind,  daily,  its  rebuking  finger,  and  she  could 
not  shut  the  vision  out. 

Neglect  of  business  brought  its  disastrous  con- 
sequences. In  the  end  there  was  a  failure ;  and 
yet,  to  the  end,  Mr.  Uhler  excused  his  conduct  on 
the  ground  that  he  wasn't  going  to  tie  himself 
down  like  a  galley  slave  to  the  oar — wasn't  go- 
ing to  stoop  to  the  drudgery  he  had  employed 
clerks  to  perform.  This  was  all  his  wife  could  gain 
from  him  in  reply  to  her  frequent  remonstrances. 

Up  to  this  time,  Mr.  Uhler  had  resisted  the 
better  suggestions  which,  in  lucid  intervals,  if  we 
may  so  call  them,  were  thrown  into  her  mind. 
Pride  would  not  let  her  give  to  her  household 
duties  that  personal  care  which  their  rightful  per- 
formance demanded ;  the  more  particularly,  as,  in 
much  of  her  husband's  conduct,  she  plainly  saw 
rebuke. 

At  last,  poverty,  that  stern  oppressor,  drove 
the  Uhlers  out  from  their  pleasant  home,  and  they 
shrunk  away  into  obscurity,  privation,  and  want. 
In  the  last  interview  held  by  Mrs.  Uhler  with  the 
"  strong  minded"  friends,  whose  society  had  sc 
long  thrown  its  fascinations  around  her,  and 


22  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

whose  views  and  opinions  had  so  long  exercised 
a  baleful  influence  over  her  home,  she  was  ur- 
gently advised  to  abandon  her  husband,  whom 
one  of  the  number  did  not  hesitate  to  denounce 
in  language  so  coarse  and  disgusting,  that  the 
latent  instincts  of  the  wife  were  shocked  beyond 
measure.  Her  husband  was  not  the  brutal,  sen- 
sual tyrant  this  refined  lady,  in  her  intemperate 
zeal,  represented  him.  None  knew  the  picture 
to  be  so  false  as  Mrs.  Uhler,  and  all  that  was 
good  and  true  in  her  rose  up  in  indignant  rebel- 
lion. 

To  her  poor,  comfortless  home,  and  neglected 
children,  Mrs.  Uhler  returned  in  a  state  of  mind 
BO  different  from  anything  she  had  experienced 
for  years,  that  she  half  wondered  within  herself  if 
she  were  really  the  same  woman.  Scales  had 
fallen  suddenly  from  her  eyes,  and  she  saw  every 
thing  around  her  in  new  aspects  and  new  relations. 

"  Has  my  husband  really  been  an  exacting  ty- 
rant ?"  This  question  she  propounded  to  herself 
almost  involuntarily.  "  Did  he  trample  upon 
my  rights  in  the  beginning,  or  did  I  trample  up- 
on his  ?  He  had  a  right  to  expect  from  me  the 
best  service  I  could  render,  in  making  his  home 
comfortable  and  happy.  Did  I  render  that  ser 


RIGHTS    ANL    WKONGS.  23 

vice  ?  did  I  see  in  my  home  duties  my  highest 
obligation  as  a  wife  ?  have  I  been  a  true  wife  to 
him  ?» 

So  rapidly  came  these  rebuking  interrogations 
upon  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Uhler,  that  it  almost  seem- 
ed as  if  an  accuser  stood  near,  and  uttered  the 
questions  aloud.  And  how  did  she  respond? 
Not  in  self  justification.  Convinced,  humbled, 
repentant,  she  sought  her  home. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  almost  evening, 
when  Mrs.  Uhler  passed  the  threshold  of  her  own 
door.  The  cry  of  a  child  reached  her  ears  the 
moment  she  entered,  and  she  knew,  in  an  instant, 
that  it  was  a  cry  of  suffering,  not  anger  or  ill 
nature.  Hurrying  to  her  chamber,  she  found  her 
three  little  ones  huddled  together  on  the  floor, 
the  youngest  with  one  of  its  arms  and  the  side  of 
its  face  badly  burned  in  consequence  of  its  clothes 
having  taken  fire.  As  well  as  she  could  learn,  the 
girl  in  whose  charge  she  had  left  the  children,  and 
who,  in  the  reduced  circumstances  of  the  family, 
was  constituted  doer  of  all  work,  had,  from  some 
pique,  gone  away  in  her  absence.  Thus  left  free 
to  go  where,  and  do  what  they  pleased,  the  chil- 
dren had  amused  themselves  in  playing  with  the 
fire.  "When  the  clothes  of  the  youngest  caught  in 


24  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS 

the  blaze  of  a  lighted  stick,  the  two  oldest,  with 
singular  presence  of  mind,  threw  around  her  a 
wet  towel  that  hung  near,  and  thus  saved  he* 
ife. 

"  Has  your  father  been  home  ?"  asked  Mrs 
Uhler,  as  soon  as  she  comprehended  the  scene 
before  her. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  was  answered. 

"  "Where  is  he  ?" 

<(  He's  gone  for  the  doctor,"  replied  the  oldest 
of  the  children. 

"  "What  did  he  say  ?"  This  question  was  in- 
voluntary.  The  child  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  then  replied  artlessly — 

"  He  said  he  wished  we  had  no  mother,  and 
then  he'd  know  how  to  take  care  of  us  himself." 

The  words  came  with  the  force  of  a  blow. 
Mrs.  TJhler  staggered  backwards,  and  sunk  upon 
a  chair,  weak,  for  a  brief  time,  as  an  infant.  Ere 
yet  her  strength  returned,  her  husband  came  in 
with  a  doctor.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  her 
presence ;  but  she  soon  made  that  apparent.  All 
the  mother's  heart  was  suddenly  alive  in  her. 
She  was  not  over  officious — had  little  to  say ;  but 
her  actions  were  all  to  the  purpose.  In  due  time, 


RIGHTS    AND   WRONGS.  25 

the  little  sufferer  was  in  a  comfortable  state  and 
the  doctor  retired. 

Not  a  word  had,  up  to  this  moment,  passed 
between  the  husband  and  wife.  Now,  the  eyes 
of  the  latter  sought  those  of  Mr.  Uhler;  but 
there  came  no  answering  glance.  His  face  was 
sternly  averted. 

Darkness  was  now  beginning  to  fall,  and  Mrs. 
Uhler  left  her  husband  and  children,  and  went 
down  into  the  kitchen.  The  fire  had  burned  low, 
and  was  nearly  extinguished.  The  girl  had  not 
returned ;  and,  from  what  Mrs.  Uhler  gathered 
from  the  children  would  not,  she  presumed,  come 
back  to  them  again.  It  mattered  not,  however ; 
Mrs.  Uhler  was  in  no  state  of  mind  to  regard 
this  as  a  cause  of  trouble.  She  rather  felt  reliev- 
ed by  her  absence.  Soon  the  fire  was  rekindled ; 
the  kettle  simmering ;  and,  in  due  time,  a  com- 
fortable supper  was  on  the  table,  prepared  by 
her  own  hands,  and  well  prepared  too. 

Mr.  Uhler  was  a  little  taken  by  surprise,  when, 
on  being  summoned  to  tea,  he  took  his  place  at 
the  usually  uninviting  table,  and  saw  before  him 
a  dish  of  well  m  ade  toast,  and  a  plate  of  nicely 
boiled  ham.  He  said  nothing ;  but  a  sensation 
of  pleasure,  so  warm  that  it  made  his  heart  beat 

2 


26  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

quicker,  pervaded  bis  bosom ;  and  this  was  in 
creased,  when  he  placed  the  cup  of  well  made 
fragrant  tea  to  his  lips,  and  took  a  long  delicious 
draught.     All  had  been  prepared  by  the  hands 
of  his  wife — that  he  knew.      How  quickly  his 
pleasure  sighed  itself  away,  as  he  remembered 
that,  with  her  ample  ability  to  make  his  home 
the  pleasantest  place  for  him  in  the  world,  she 
was  wholly  wanting  in  inclination. 

Usually,  the  husband  spent  his  evenings  away. 
Something  caused  him  to  linger  in  his  own  home 
on  this  occasion.  Few  words  passed  between 
him  and  his  wife  ;  but  the  latter  was  active 
through  all  the  evening,  and,  wherever  her  hand 
was  laid,  order  seemed  to  grow  up  from  dis- 
order ;  and  the  light  glinted  back  from  a  hundred 
places  in  the  room,  where  no  cheerful  reflection 
had  ever  met  his  eyes  before. 

Mr.  Uhler  looked  on,  in  wonder  and  hope,  but 
said  nothing.  Strange  enough,  Mrs.  Uhler  was 
up  by  day-dawn  on  the  next  morning ;  and  in 
due  time,  a  very  comfortable  breakfast  was  pre 
pared  by  her  own  hands. ,  Mr.  Uhler  ventured  a 
word  of  praise,  as  he  sipped  his  coffee.  Never 
had  he  tasted  finer  in  his  life,  he  said.  Mrs. 
Uhler  looked  gratified  ;  but  offered  no  response. 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  27 

At  dinner  time  Mr.  Uhler  came  home  from 
the  store,  where  he  was  now  employed  at  a  small 
salary,  and  still  more  to  his  surprise,  found  a 
well  cooked  and  well  served  meal  awaiting  him. 
Never,  since  his  marriage,  had  he  eaten  food  at 
his  own  table  with  so  true  a  relish — never  before 
had  every  thing  in  his  house  seemed  so  much  like 
home. 

And  so  things  went  on  for  a  week,  Mr.  Uhler 
wondering  and  observant,  and  Mrs.  Uhler  find- 
ing her  own  sweet  reward,  not  only  in  a  con- 
sciousness of  duty,  but  in  seeing  a  great  change 
in  her  husband,  who  was  no  longer  moot  j  and 
ill-natured,  and  who  had  not1  been  absent  once  at 
meal  time,  nor  during  an  evening,  since  she  had 
striven  to  be  to  him  a  good  wife,  and  to  her  chil- 
dren a  self  denying  mother. 

There  came,  now,  to  be  a  sort  of  tacit  emula- 
tion of  good  offices  between  the  wife  and  hus- 
band, who  had,  for  so  many  years,  lived  in  a 
state  of  partial  indifference.  Mr.  Uhler  urged 
the  procuring  of  a  domestic,  in  place  of  the  girl 
who  had  left  them,  but  Mrs.  Uhler  said  no — their 
circumstances  would  not  justify  the  expense. 
Mr.  Uhler  said  they  could  very  well  afford  it, 


28  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

and  intimated  something  about  an  expected  ad 
vance  in  his  salary. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  a  mere  household 
drudge,"  he  said  to  her  one  day,  a  few  weeks 
after  the  change  just  noted.  "  You  know  so  well 
how  every  thing  ought  to  be  done,  that  the  office 
of  director  alone  should  be  yours.  I  think  there 
is  a  brighter  day  coming  for  us.  I  hope  so.  From 
the  first  of  next  month,  my  salary  is  to  be  in- 
creased to  a  thousand  dollars.  Then  we  will 
move  from  this  poor  place,  into  a  better  home." 

There  was  a  blending  of  hopefulness  and 
tender  .ess  in  the  voice  of  Mr.  Uhler,  that  touched 
his  wife  deeply.  Overcome  by  her  feelings,  she 
laid  her  face  upon  his  bosom,  and  wept. 

"  Whether  the  day  be  brighter  or  darker,"  she 
said,  when  she  could  speak  calmly,  "  God  helping 
me,  I  will  be  to  you  a  true  wife,  Herman.  If 
there  be  clouds  and  storms  without,  the  hearth 
shall  only  burn  the  brighter  for  you  within.  For- 
give me  for  the  past,  dear  husband  !  and  have 
faith  in  me  for  the  future.  You  shall  not  be  dis- 
appointed." 

And  he  was  not.  Mrs.  Uhler  had  discovered 
her  true  relation,  and  had  become  conscious  of 
her  true  duties.  She  was  no  longer  jealous  of 


RIGHTS    AND    WRONGS.  29 

her  own  rights,  and  therefore  never  trespassed  on 
the  rights  of  her  husband. 

The  rapidity  with  which  Mr.  TJhler  rose  to  his 
old  position  in  business,  sometimes  caused  a  feel- 
ing of  wonder  to  pervade  the  mind  of  his  wife. 
From  a  clerk  of  one  thousand,  he  soon  came  into 
the  receipt  of  two  thousand  a  year,  then  rose  to 
be  a  partner  in  the  business,  and  in  a  singularly 
short  period  was  a  man  of  wealth.  Mrs.  TJhler 
was  puzzled,  sometimes,  at  this,  and  so  were  other 
people.  It  was  even  hinted,  that  he  had  never 
been  as  poor  as  was  pretended.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  as  he  never  afterwards  trusted  important 
matters  to  the  discretion  of  irresponsible  clerks, 
his  business  operations  went  on  prosperously;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  Mrs.  Uhler  never  again 
left  the  comfort  and  health  of  her  family  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  ignorant  and  careless  domestics, 
the  home  of  her  husband  was  the  pleasantest 
place  in  the  world  for  him,  and  his  wife,  not  a 
mere  upper  servant,  but  a  loving  and  intelligent 
companion,  whom  he  cared  for  and  cherished 
with  the  utmost  tenderness. 


THE  HUMBLED  PHARISEE 


"  WHAT  was  that  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Andrews, 
to  the  lady  who  was  seated  next  to  her,  as  a  sin- 
gle strain  of  music  vibrated  for  a  few  momenta 
on  the  atmosphere. 

"  A  violin,  I  suppose,"  was  answered. 

"  A  violin !"  An  expression  almost  of  horror 
came  into  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Andrews. 
"  It  can't  be  possible." 

It  was  possible,  however,  for  the  sound  came 
again,  prolonged  and  varied. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Andrews, 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  < 

looking  troubled,  and   moving  uneasily   in  her 
chair. 

"  Cotillions,  I  presume,"  was  answered,  care- 
lessly.  «  ' 

"  Not  dancing,  surely  !" 

But,  even  as  Mrs.  Andrews  said  this,  a  man 
entered,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  violin.  There 
was  an  instant  movement  on  the  part  of  several 
younger  members  of  the  company;  partners  were 
chosen,  and  ere  Mrs.  Andrews  had  time  to  col- 
lect her  suddenly  bewildered  thoughts,  the  mu- 
sic had  struck  up,  and  the  dancers  were  in  mo- 
tion. 

"  I  can't  remain  here.  It's  an  outrage  !"  said 
Mrs.  Andrews,  making  a  motion  to  rise. 

The  lady  by  whom  she  was  sitting  comprehen 
ded  now  more  clearly  her  state  of  mind,  and  lay- 
ing a  hand  on  her  arm,  gently  restrained  her. 

"  "Why  not  remain  ?  What  is  an  outrage, 
Mrs.  Andrews  ?"  she  asked. 

''  Mrs.  Burdick  knew  very  well  that  I  was  a 
member  of  the  church."  The  lady's  manner 
was  indignant. 

"  All  your  friends  know  that,  Mrs.  Andrews," 
replied  the  other.  A  third  person  might  have 
detected  in  her  tones  a  lurking  sarcasm.  But 


dX  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

this  was  not  perceived  by  the  individual  addressed 
"  But  what  is  wrong  ?" 

"  "Wrong !  Isn't  that  wrong  ?"  And  she  glan- 
ced towards  the  mazy  wreath  of  human  figures 
already  circling  on  the  floor.  "  I  could  not  have 
believed  it  of  Mrs.  Burdickj.she  knew  that  I  was 
a  professor  of  religion." 

"  She  doesn't  expect  you  to  dance,  Mrs.  An- 
drews," said  the  lady. 

"  But  she  expects  me  to  countenance  the  sin 
and  folly  by  my  presence." 

"  Sin  and  folly  are  strong  terms,  Mrs.  An- 
drews." 

"  I  know  they  are,  and  I  use  them  advisedly, 
I  hold  it  a  sin  to  dance." 

"  I  know  wise  and  good  people  who  hold  a  dif- 
ferent opinion." 

"  Wise  and  good !"  Mrs.  Andrews  spoke 
with  strong  disgust.  "  I  wouldn't  give  much  for 
their  wisdom  and  goodness — not  I !" 

"  The  true  qualities  of  men  and  women  are 
best  seen  at  home.  When  people  go  abroad, 
they  generally  change  their  attire — mental  as 
well  as  bodily.  Now,  I  have  seen  the  home-life 
of  certain  ladies,  who  do  not  think  it  sin  to  dance, 
and  it  was  full  of  the  heart's  warm  sunshine ;  and 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  33 

I  have  seen  the  home-life  of  certain  ladies  who 
hold  dancing  to  be  sinful,  and  I  have  said  to  my- 
self, half  shudderingly :  "  What  child  can  breathe 
that  atmosphere  for  years,  and  not  grow  up  with 
a  clouded  spirit,  and  a  fountain  of  bitterness  in 
the  heart !'  " 

"  And  so  you  mean  to  say,"  Mrs.  Andrews 
spoke  with  some  asperity  of  manner,  "  that  danc- 
ing makes  people  better  ? — Is,  in  fact,  a  means  ot 
grace  ?" 

"  No.     I  say  no  such  thing." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  say  ?  I  draw 
the  only  conclusion  I  can  make." 

"  One  may  grow  better  or  worse  from  danc- 
ing," said  the  lady.  "  All  will  depend  on  the 
spirit  in  which  the  recreation  is  indulged.  In  it- 
self the  act  is  innocent." 

Mrs.  Andrews  shook  her  head. 

"  In  what  does  its  sin  consist  ?" 

"  It  is  an  idle  waste  of  time." 

"  Can  you  say  nothing  worse  of  it  ?" 

"  I  could,  but  delicacy  keeps  me  silent." 

"  Did  you  ever  dance  ?" 

"  Me  ?    What  a  question  !    No !" 

"  I  have  danced  often.     And,  let  me  say,  that 

2* 


34  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

your  inference  on  the  score  of  indelicacy  is  alto- 
gether an  assumption." 

"  Why  everybody  admits  that." 

"  Not  by  any  means." 

"  If  the  descriptions  of  some  of  the  midnight 
balls  and  assemblies  that  I  have  heard,  of  the 
waltzing,  and  all  that,  be  true,  then  nothing  could 
be  more  indelicate, — nothing  more  injurious  to 
the  young  and  innocent." 

"  All  good  things  become  evil  in  their  perver- 
sions," said  the  lady.  "  And  I  will  readily  agree 
with  you,  that  dancing  is  perverted,  and  its  use, 
as  a  means  of  social  recreation,  most  sadly  chan- 
ged into  what  is  injurious.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  church  going." 

"  You  shock  me,"  said  Mrs.  Andrews.  "Ex- 
cuse me,  but  you  are  profane." 

"  I  trust  not.  For  true  religion — for  the  holy 
things  of  the  church — I  trust  that  I  have  tha 
most  profound  reverence.  But  let  me  prove 
what  I  say,  that  even  church  going  may  become 
evil." 

"  I  am  all  attention,"  said  the  incredulous  Mrs. 
Andrews. 

"  You  can  bear  plain  speaking." 

"  Me  !"   The  church  member  looked  surprised. 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  35 

"  Yes,  you." 

"  Certainly  I  can.     But  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  To  put  you  on  your  guard, — nothing  more." 

"  Don't  fear  but  what  I  can  bear  all  the  plain 
speaking  you  may  venture  upon.  As'  to  church 
going  being  evil,  I  am  ready  to  prove  the  nega- 
tive against  any  allegations  you  can  advance. 
So  speak  on." 

After  a  slight  pause,  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
the  lady  said : 

"  There  has  been  a  protracted  meeting  in  Mr. 
B 's  church." 

"  I  know  it.    And  a  blessed  time  it  was." 

"  You  attended  ?" 

"Yes,  every  day;  and  greatly  was  my  soul  re« 
freshed  and  strengthened." 

"  Did  you  see  Mrs.  Eldridge  there  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Eldridge  ?  No  indeed,  except  on  Sun- 
day. She's  too  worldly-minded  for  that." 

"  She  has  a  pew  in  your  church." 

"  Yes ;  and  comes  every  Sunday  morning  be- 
cause it  is  fashionable  and  respectable  to  go  to 
church.  As  for  her  religion,  it  isn't  worth  much 
and  will  hardly  stand  her  at  the  last  day." 

"  "Why  Mrs.  Andrews  !  You  shock  me  !  Have 
you  seen  into  her  heart  ?  Do  you  know  her  pur 


$6  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

poses  ?    Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged,  is  the 
divine  injunction." 

"  A  tree  is  known  by  its  fruit,"  said  Mrs.  An- 
drews, who  felt  the  rebuke,  and  slightly  colored 

"  True ;  and  by  their  fruits  shall  ye  know 
them,"  replied  the  lady.  "  But  come,  there  are 
too  many  around  us  here  for  this  earnest  conver- 
sation. We  will  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
ourselves  in  one  of  the  less  crowded  rooms.  No 
one  will  observe  our  absence,  and  you  will  be 
freed  from  the  annoyance  of  these  dancers." 

The  two  ladies  quietly  retired  from  the  draw- 
ing rooms.  As  soon  as  they  were  more  alone, 
the  last  speaker  resumed. 

"  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.  Do  men 
gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles  ?  Let 
me  relate  what  I  saw  and  heard  in  the  families 
of  two  ladies  during  this  protracted  meeting. 
One  of  these  ladies  was  Mrs.  Eldridge.  I  was 
passing  in  her  neighborhood  about  four  o'clock 
and  as  I  owed  her  a  call,  thought  the  opportuni- 
ty a  good  one  for  returning  it.  On  entering,  my 
ears  caught  the  blended  music  of  a  piano,  and 
children's  happy  voices.  From  the  front  parlor, 
through  the  partly  opened  door,  a  sight,  beauti- 
ful to  my  eyes,  was  revealed.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  37 

eeated  at  the  instrument,  her  sweet  babe  asleep 
on  one  arm,  while,  with  a  single  hand,  she  was 
touching  the  notes  of  a  familiar  air,  to  which 
four  children  were  dancing.  A  more  innocent, 
>ving,  happy  group  I  have  never  seen.  For 
nearly  ten  minutes  I  gazed  upon  them  unobser- 
ved, so  interested  that  I  forgot  the  questionabla 
propriety  of  my  conduct,  and  during  that  time, 
not  an  unkind  word  was  uttered  by  one  of  the 
children,  nor  did  anything  occur  to  mar  the  har- 
mony of  the  scene.  It  was  a  sight  on  which  an- 
gels could  have  looked,  nay,  did  look  with  pleas- 
ure ;  for,  whenever  hearts  are  tuned  to  good  af- 
fections, angels  are  present.  The  music  was  sus- 
pended, and  the  dancing  ceased,  as  I  presented 
myself.  The  mother  greeted  me  with  a  happy 
smile,  and  each  of  the  children  spoke  to  her  visi- 
tor with  an  air  at  once  polite  and  respectful. 

"  '  I  've  turned  nurse  for  the  afternoon,  you 
see,'  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  cheerfully.  '  It's  Alice's 
day  to  go  out,  and  I  never  like  to  trust  our  little 
ones  with  the  chambermaid,  who  is  n't  over  fond 
of  children.  We  generally  have  a  good  time  on 
these  occasions,  for  I  give  myself  up  to  them  en- 
tirely. They've  read,  and  played,  and  told  sto- 


38  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

ries,  until  tired,  and  now   I  Ve  just  brightened 
them  up,  body  and  mind,  with  a  dance.' 

"  And  bright  and  happy  they  all  looked. 

"  '  Now  run  up  into  the  nursery  for  a  littla 
while,  and  build  block  houses,'  said  she,  '  while  1 
have  a  little  pleasant  talk  with  my  friend.  That's 
good  children.  And  I  want  you  to  be  very  quiet, 
for  dear  little  Eddy  is  fast  asleep,  and  I'm  go- 
ing to  lay  him  in  his  crib.' 

"  Away  went  the  children,  and  I  heard  no  more 
of  them  for  the  half  hour  during  which  I  staid. 
"With  the  child  in  her  arms,  Mrs.  Eldridge  went 
up  to  her  chamber,  and  I  went  with  her.  As 
ehe  was  laying  him  in  the  crib,  I  took  from  the 
mantle  a  small  porcelain  figure  of  a  kneeling 
child,  and  was  examining  it,  when  she  turned  to 
me.  '  Very  beautiful,'  said  I.  '  It  is,'  she  replied. 
— '  We  call  it  our  Eddy,  saying  his  prayers. 
There  is  a  history  attached  to  it.  Very  early  I 
teach  my  little  ones  to  say  an  evening  prayer. 
First  impressions  are  never  wholly  effaced ;  I 
therefore  seek  to  implant,  in  the  very  dawning 
of  thought,  an  idea  of  God,  and  our  dependence 
on  him  for  life  and  all  our  blessings,  knowing 
that,  if  duly  fixed,  this  idea  will  ever  remain,  and 
be  the  vessel,  in  after  years,  for  the  reception  of 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  39 

truth  flowing  down  from  the  great  source  of  all 
truth.  Strangely  enough,  my  little  Eddy,  so 
sweet  in  temper  as  he  was,  steadily  refused  to 
say  his  prayers.  I  tried  in  every  way  that  I  could 
think  of  to  induce  him  to  kneel  with  the  othei 
children,  and  repeat  a  few  simple  words  ,  but  not 
his  aversion  thereto  was  unconquerable.  I  at 
last  grew  really  troubled  about  it.  There  seem- 
ed to  be  a  vein  in  his  character  that  argued  no 
good.  One  day  I  saw  this  kneeling  child  in  a 
store.  With  the  sight  of  it  came  the  thought  of 
how  I  might  use  it.  I  bought  the  figure,  and 
did  not  show  it  to  Eddy  until  he  was  about  go- 
ing to  bed.  The  effect  was  all  I  had  hoped  to 
produce.  He  looked  at  it  for  some  moments  ear- 
nestly, then  dropped  on  his  little  knees,  clasped 
his  white  hands,  and  murmured  the  prayer  I  had 
BO  long  and  so  vainly  striven  to  make  him  repeat.' 
"  Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  as 
she  uttered  the  closing  words.  I  felt  that  she 
was  a  true  mother,  and  loved  her  children  with  a 
high  and  holy  love.  And  now,  let  me  give  you 
a  picture  that  strongly  contrasts  with  this.  Not 
far  from  Mrs.  Eldridge,  resides  a  lady,  who  is 
remarkable  for  her  devotion  to  the  church,  and, 
I  am  compelled  to.  say,  want  of  cha  rity  towards 


40  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

all  who  happen  to  differ  with  her — more  particu- 
larly, if  the  difference  involves  church  matters 
It  was  after  sundown;  still  being  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, I  embraced  the  opportunity  to  make  a 
call.  On  ringing  the  bell,  I  heard,  immediately,  a 
clatter  of  feet  down  the  stairs  and  along  the  pass- 
age, accompanied  by  children's  voices,  loud  and 
boisterous.  It  was  some  time  before  the  door 
was  opened,  for  each  of  the  four  children,  wish- 
ing to  perform  the  office,  each  resisted  the  oth- 
ers' attempts  to  admit  the  visitor.  Angry  excla- 
mations, rude  outcries,  ill  names,  and  struggles 
for  the  advantage  continued,  until  the  cook,  at- 
tracted from  the  kitchen  by  the  noise,  arrived^at 
the  scene  of  contention,  and  after  jerking  the  chil- 
dren so  roughly  as  to  set  the  two  youngest  cry- 
ing, swung  it  open,  and  I  entered.  On  gaining 
the  parlor,  I  asked  for  the  mother  of  these  chil- 
dren. 

" '  She  isn't  at  home,'  said  the  cook. 

" '  She's  gone  to  church,'  said  the  oldest  of  the 
children. 

" '  I  wish  she'd  stay  at  home,'  remarked  cook 
in  a  very  disrespectful  way,  and  with  a  manner 
that  showed  her  to  be  much  fretted  in  her  mind. 
It 's  Mary's  day  out,  and  she  knows  I  can't  do 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  41 

anything  with  the  children.  Such  children  I  never 
saw!  They  don't  mind  a  word  you  say,  and 
quarrel  so  among  themselves,  that  it  makes  one 
sick  to  hear  them.' 

"  At  this  moment  a  headless  doll  struck  against 
the  side  of  my  neck.  It  had  been  thrown  by  one 
child  at  another ;  missing  her  aim,  she  gave  me  the 
benefit  of  her  evil  intention.  At  this,  cook  lost 
all  patience,  and  seizing  the  offending  little  one, 
boxed  her  soundly,  before  I  could  interfere.  The 
language  used  by  that  child,  as  she  escaped  from 
the  cook's  hands,  was  shocking.  It  made  my 
flesh  creep  ! 

"'Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  your 
mother  had  gone  to'  church  ?'  I  asked  of  the  oldest 
child. 

" '  Yes,  ma'am,'  was  answered.  '  She's  been 
every  day  this  week.  There's  a  protracted  meet* 
ing.' 

"'Give  me  that  book!'  screamed  a  child,  at 
this  moment.  Glancing  across  the  room,  I  saw 
two  of  the  little  ones  contending  for  possession  of 
a  large  family  Bible,  which  lay  upon  a  small  table. 
Before  I  could  reach  them,  for  I  started  forward, 
from  an  impulse  of  the  moment,  the  table  was 


42  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

thrown  over,  the  marble  top  broken,  and  the  cover 
torn  from  the  sacred  volume." 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Andrews  became  instantly  of 
a  deep  crimson.  Not  seeming  to  notice  this,  her 
friend  continued. 

"  As  the  table  fell,  it  came  within  an  inch  of 
striking  another  child  on  the  head,  who  had  seat- 
ed himself  on  the  floor.  Had  it  done  so,  a  fractured 
skull,  perhaps  instant  death,  would  have  been  the 
consequence." 

Mrs.  Andrews  caught  her  breath,  and  grew 
very  pale.  The  other  continued. 

"  In  the  midsfe  of  the  confusion  that  followed, 
the  father  came  home. 

"  '  Where  is  your  mother  ?'  he  asked  of  one  of 
the  children. 

" '  Gone  to  church,'  was  replied. 

"  '  0  dear  !'  I  can  hear  his  voice  now,  with  its 
tone  of  hopelessness, — '  This  church-going  mania 
is  dreadful.  I  tell  my  wife  that  it  is  all  wrong. 
That  her  best  service  to  God  is  to  bring  up  her 
children  in  the  love  of  what  is  good  and  true, — in 
filial  obedience  and  fraternal  affection.  But  it 
avails  not.' 

"  And  now,  Mrs.  Andrews,"  continued  the  lady,  * 
not  in  the  least  appearing  to  notice  the  distress 


THE    HUMBLED    PHARISEE.  43 

and  confusion  of  her  over-pious  friend,  whom  she 
had  placed  upon  the  rack,  "  When  God  cornea 
to  make  up  his  jewels,  and  says  to  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
and  also  to  this  mother  who  thought  more  of 
church-going  than  of  her  precious  little  ones, 
Where  are  the  children  I  gave  you  ?  which  do 
you  think  will  be  most  likely  to  answer,  Here 
they  are,  not  one  is  lost  ?" 

"Have  I  not  clearly  shown  you  that  even  church- 
going  may  be  perverted  into  an  evil  ?  That 
piety  may  attain  an  inordinate  growth,  while 
charity  is  dead  at  the  root  ?  Spiritual  pride ;  a 
vain  conceit  of  superior  goodness  because  of  the 
observance  of  certain  forms  and  ceremonies,  is  the 
error  into  which  too  many  devout  religionists  fall. 
But  God  sees  not  as  man  seeth.  He  looks  into 
the  heart,  and  judges  his  creatures  by  the  motives 
that  rule  them." 

And,  as  she  said  this,  she  arose,  the  silent  and 
rebuked  Mrs.  Andrews,  whose  own  picture  had 
been  drawn,  following  her  down  to  the  gay  draw- 
ing rooms. 

Many  a  purer  heart  than  that  o/  the  humbled 
Pharisee  beat  there  beneath  the  bosoms  of  happy 
maidens  even  though  their  feet  were  rising  and 
falling  in  time  to  witching  melodies. 


ROMANCE  AND   EEALITY. 


"  I  MET  with  a  most  splendid  girl  last  evening," 
remarked  to  his  friend  a  young  man,  whose  fine, 
intellectual  forehead,  and  clear  bright  eye,  gave 
indications  of  more  than  ordinary  mental  endow- 
ments. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  was  the  friend's  brief  ques- 
tion. 

"  Her  name  is  Adelaide  Merton.  Have  you 
ever  seen  her  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  have  often  heard  of  the  young 
lady." 

"  As  a  girl  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence  ?" 

"  0  yes.     Don't  you  remember  the  beautiful 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  45 

little  gems  of  poetry  that  used  to  appear  in  the 
Gazette,  under  the  signature  of  Adelaide  ?" 

"Very  well.  Some  of  them  were  exquisite, 
and  all  indicative  of  a  fine  mind.  Was  she  their 
author  ?" 

"  So  I  have  been  told." 

"  I  can  very  readily  believe  it ;  for  never  have 
I  met  with  a  woman  who  possessed  such  a  bril- 
liant intellect.  Her  power  of  expression  is  almost 
unbounded.  Her  sentences  are  perfect  pictures 
of  the  scenes  she  describes.  If  she  speaks  of  a 
landscape,  not  one  of  its  most  minute  features  is 
lost,  nor  one  of  the  accessories  to  its  perfection 
as  a  whole  overlooked.  And  so  of  every  thing 
else,  in  the  higher  regions  of  the  intellect,  or  in 
the  lower  forms  of  nature.  For  my  own  part,  I 
was  lost  ra  admiration  of  her  qualities.  She  will 
yet  shine  in  the  world." 

The  young  man  who  thus  expressed  himself  in 
regard  to  Adelaide  Merton,  was  named  Charle? 
Fenwick.  He  possessed  a  brilliant  mind,  whic 
had  been  well  stored.  But  his  views  of  life  were 
altogether  perverted  and  erroneous,  and  his  ends 
deeply  tinctured  with  the  love  of  distinction,  for 
its  own  sake.  A  few  tolerably  successful  literary 
efforts,  had  been  met  by  injudicious  over  praise, 


46  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

leading  him  to  the  vain  conclusion  that  his  abilities 
were  of  so  high  a  character,  that  no  field  of  action 
was  for  him  a  worthy  one  that  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  what  he  was  pleased  to  term  the  ordinary 
grovelling  pursuits  of  life.  Of  course,  all  mere 
mechanical  operations  were  despised,  and  as  a  na- 
tural consequence,  the  men  who  were  engaged  in 
them.  So  with  merchandizing,  and  also  with  the 
various  branches  of  productive  enterprise.  They 
were  mere  ministers  of  the  base  physical  wants 
of  our  nature.  His  mind  took  in  higher  aims  than 
these ! 

His  father  was  a  merchant  in  moderate  circum- 
stances, engaged  in  a  calling  which  was  of  course 
despised  by  the  son,  notwithstanding  he  was  in- 
debted to  his  father's  constant  devotion  to  that 
calling  for  his  education,  and  all  the  means  of  com- 
fort and  supposed  distinction  that  he  enjoyed. 
The  first  intention  of  the  elder  Mr.  Fenwick  had 
been  to  qualify  his  son,  thoroughly,  for  the  call- 
'ng  of  a  merchant,  that  he  might  enter  into  busi 
ess  with  him  and  receive  the  benefits  of  his  ex 
perience  and  facilities  in  trade.  But  about  the 
age  of  seventeen,  while  yet  at  college,  young 
Fenwick  made  the  unfortunate  discovery  that  he 
could  produce  a  species  of  composition  which  he 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  47 

called  poetry.  His  efforts  were  praised — and  this 
induced  him  to  go  on,  until  he  learned  the  art  of 
tolerably  smooth  versification.  This  would  all 
'nave  been  well  enough  had  he  not  imagined  him- 
self to  be  in  consequence,  of  vastly  increased  im- 
portance. Stimulated  by  this  idea,  he  prosecuted 
his  collegiate  studies  with  renewed  diligence, 
storing  a  strong  and  comprehensive  mind  with 
facts  and  principles  in  science  and  philosophy, 
that  would  have  given  him,  in  after  life,  no  ordi- 
nary power  of  usefulness  as  a  literary  and  profes- 
sional man,  had  not  his  selfish  ends  paralysed  and 
perverted  the  natural  energies  of  a  good  intellect. 
The  father's  intention  of  making  him  a  mer- 
chant was,  of  course,  opposed  by  the  son,  who 
chose  one  of  the  learned  profession  as  more  hon- 
orable— not  more  useful ;  a  profession  that  would 
give  him  distinction — not  enable  him  to  fill  his 
right  place  in  society.  In  this  he  was  gratified. 
At  the  time  of  his  introduction  to  the  reader,  he 
was  known  as  a  young  physician  without  a 
patient.  He  had  graduated,  but  had  not  yet  seen 
any  occasion  for  taking  an  office,  as  his  father's 
purse  supplied  all  his  wants.  His  pursuits  were 
mainly  literary — consisting  of  essays  and  reviews 
for  some  of  the  periodicals  intermixed  with  a  lib- 


48  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    «IIADOWS. 

eral  seasoning  of  pretty  fair  rhymes  which  rose 
occasionally  to  the  dignity  of  poetry — or,  as  he 
supposed,  to  the  lofty  strains  of  a  Milton  or  a 
Dante.  Occasionally  a  lecture  before  some  liter-' 
ary  association  brought  his  name  into  the  news- 
papers in  connection  with  remarks  that  kindled 
his  vanity  into  a  flame.  Debating  clubs  afforded 
another  field  for  display,  and  he  made  liberal 
use  of  the  facility.  So  much  for  Charles  Fen- 
wick. 

Of  Adelaide  Merton,  we  may  remark,  that  she 
was  just  the  kind  of  a  woman  to  captivate  a 
young  man  of  Fenwick's  character.  She  was 
showy  in  her  style  of  conversation,  but  exceed- 
ingly superficial.  Her  reading  consisted  princi- 
pally of  poetry  and  the  popular  light  literature 
of  the  day,  with  a  smattering  of  history.  She 
could  repeat,  in  quite  an  attractive  style,  many 
fine  passages  from  Homer,  Virgil,  Milton,  Shak- 
epeare,  Pope,  Byron,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  an*3 
a  host  of  lesser  lights  in  the  poetic  hemisphere— 
and  could  quote  from  and  criticise  the  philosophy 
and  style  of  Bulwer  with  the  most  edifying  self- 
satisfaction  imaginable — not  to  enumerate  her 
many  other  remarkable  characteristics. 

A  second  visit  to  Adelaide  confirmed  the  first 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITV.  49 

favorable  impression  made  upon  the  mind  of 
Fenwick.  At  the  third  visit  he  was  half  in  love 
with  her,  and  she  more  than  half  in  love 
with  him.  A  fourth  interview  completed  the 
work  on  both  sides.  At  the  fifth,  the  following 
conversation  terminated  the  pleasant  intercourse 
of  the  evening.  They  were  seated  on  a  sofa,  and 
had  been  talking  of  poetry,  and  birds,  and  flowers, 
green  fields,  and  smiling  landscapes,  and  a 
dozen  other  things  not  necessary  to  be  repeated 
at  present.  A  pause  of  some  moments  finally 
succeeded,  and  each  seemed  deeply  absorbed  in 
thought. 

"  Adelaide,"  at  length  the  young  man  said  in  a 
low,  musical  tone,  full  of  richness  and  pathos — 
"  Do  you  not  feel,  sometimes,  when  your  mind 
rises  into  the  region  of  pure  thoughts,  and  ranges 
free  among  the  beautiful  and  glorious  images  that 
then  come  and  go  like  angel  visitants,  a  sense  of 
loneliness,  because  another  cannot  share  what 
brings  to  you  such  exquisite  delight  ?" 

"  Yes — often  and  often,"  replied  the  maiden 
lifting  her  eyes  to  those  of  Fenwick,  and  gazing 
at  him  with  a  tender  expression. 

"  And  yet  few  there  are,  Adelaide,  few  indeed 
who  could  share  such  elevating  pleasures." 
3 


bQ  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Few,  indeed,"  was  the  response. 

"  Pardon  me,  for  saying,"  resumed  the  young 
man,  "  that  to  you  I  have  been  indebted  for  such 
added  delights.  Earely,  indeed,  have  I  been  able 
X)  find,  especially  among  your  gentler  sex,  one 
who  could  rise  with  me  into  the  refining,  elevat- 
ing, exquisite  pleasures  of  the  imagination.  But 
you  have  seemed  fully  to  appreciate  my  senti- 
ments, and  fully  to  sympathize  with  them." 

To  this  Adelaide  held  down  her  head  for  a 
moment  or  two,  the  position  causing  the  blood  to 
deepen  in  her  cheeks  and  forehead.  Then  look- 
ing up  with  an  expression  of  lofty  poetic  feeling 
she  said — 

"  And,  until  I  met  you,  Mr.  Fenwick,  I  must 
be  frank  in  saying,  that  I  have  known  no  one, 
whose  current  of  thought  and  feeling — no  one 
whose  love  of  the  beautiful  in  the  ideal  or  natural 
— has  seemed  so  perfect  a  reflection  of  my  own." 

To  this  followed  another  pause,  longer  and 
*nore  thoughtful  than  the  first.  It  was  at  length 
oroken  by  Fenwick,  who  said,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  perceptibly. 

"  I  have  an  inward  consciousness,  that  sprung 
into  activity  when  the  first  low  murmur  of  your 
voice  fell  upon  my  ear,  that  you  were  to  me  a 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  51 

kindred  spirit.  Since  that  moment,  this  conscious- 
ness has  grown  daily  more  and  more  distinct,  and 
now  I  feel  impelled,  by  a  movement  which  I 
cannot  resist,  to  declare  its  existence.  First 
parden  this  freedom,  Adelaide,  and  then  say  if 
you  understand  and  appreciate  what  I  have  utter- 
ed in  all  frankness  and  sincerity  ?" 

Not  long  did  our  young  friend  wait  for  an  an- 
swer that  made  him  happier  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  his  life — happy  in  the  first  thrilling  con- 
sciousness of  love  deeply  and  fervently  recip- 
rocated. To  both  of  them,  there  was  a  degree  of 
romance  about  this  brief  courtship  that  fully  ac- 
corded with  their  views  of  love  truly  so  called. 
The  ordinary  cold  matter-of-fact  way  of  coming 
together,  including  a  cautious  and  even  at  times 
a  suspicious  investigation  of  character,  they 
despised  as  a  mere  mockery  of  the  high,  sponta- 
neous confidence  which  those  who  are  truly 
capable  of  loving,  feel  in  each  other — a  confidence 
which  nothing  can  shake.  And  thus  did  they 
pledge  themselves  without  either  having  thought 
of  the  other's  moral  qualities ;  or  either  of  them 
having  formed  any  distinct  ideas  in  regard  to  the 
true  nature  of  the  marriage  relation. 

A  few  months  sufficed  to  comsjimmate  their 


52  HOME.    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

union,  when,  in  accordance  with  the  gay  young 
couple's  desire,  old  Mr.  Fenwick  furnished  them 
out  handsomely,  at  a  pretty  heavy  expense,  in  un 
establishment  of  their  own.  As  Charles  Fenwick 
had  not,  heretofore,  shown  any  inclination  to 
enter  upon  the  practice  of  the  profession  he  had 
chosen,  his  father  gently  urged  upon  him  the 
necessity  of  now  doing  so.  But  the  idea  of  be- 
coming a  practical  doctor,  was  one  that  Charles 
could  not  abide.  He  had  no  objection  to  the 
title,  for  that  sounded  quite  musical  to  his  ear; 
but  no  farther  than  that  did  his  fancy  lead  him. 

"  Why  didn't  I  choose  the  law  as  a  profession  ?" 
he  'would  sometimes  say  to  his  young  wife. 
"  Then  I  might  have  shone.  But  to  bury  myself 
as  a  physician,  stealing  about  from  house  to 
house,  and  moping  over  sick  beds,  is  a  sacrifice 
of  my  talents  that  I  cannot  think  of  without  turn 
ing  from  the  picture  with  disgust." 

"  Nor  can  I,"  would  be  the  wife's  reply.  "  And 
what  is  more,  I  never  will  consent  to  such  a  per- 
version of  your  talents." 

"Why  cannot  you  study  law,  even  now, 
Charles  ?"  she  asked  of  him  one  day.  "  With 
your  acquirements,  and  habits  of  thought,  I  am 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  53 

t,ure  you  would  soon  be  able  to  pass  an  examina- 
tion." 

"  I  think  that  is  a  good  suggestion,  Adelaide," 
her  husband  replied,  thoughtfully.  "  I  should 
only  want  a  year  or  eighteen  months  for  prepara- 
tion, and  then  I  could  soon  place  myself  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  profession." 

The  suggestion  of  Charles  Fenwick's  wife  was 
promptly  adopted.  A  course  of  legal  studies 
was  entered  upon,  and  completed  in  about  two 
years.  Up  to  this  time,  every  thing  had  gone  on 
with  our  young  couple  as  smoothly  as  a  summer 
sea.  A  beautifully  furnished  house,  well  kept 
through  the  attention  of  two  or  three  servants, 
gave  to  their  indoor  enjoyments  a  very  important 
accessory.  For  money  there  was  no  care,  as  the 
elder  Mr.  Fenwick's  purse-strings  relaxed  as 
readily  to  the  hand  of  Charles  as  to  his  own.  A 
pleasant  round  of  intelligent  company,  mostly  of 
i  literary  character,  with  a  full  supply  of  all  the 
new  publications  and  leading  periodicals  of  the 
day,  kept  their  minds  elevated  into  the  region  of 
intellectual  enjoyments,  and  caused  them  stiii 
more  to  look  down  upon  the  ordinary  pursuits  of 
life  as  far  beneath  them. 

But  all  this  could  not  lust  forever.    On  the  day 


54  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

Charles  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  he  received  a 
note  from  his  father,  requesting  an  immediate 
interview.  He  repaired  at  once  to  his  counting 
room,  in  answer  to  the  parental  summons. 

"  Charles,"  said  the  old  man,  when  they  wei 
alone,  "  I  have,  up  to  this  time,  supplied  all  your 
wants,  and  have  done  it  cheerfully.  In  order  to 
prepare  you  for  taking  your  right  place  in  socie- 
ty, I  have  spared  no  expense  in  your  education, 
bearing  you,  after  your  term  of  college  life  had 
expired,  through  two  professional  courses,  so 
that,  as  either  a  physician  or  a  lawyer,  you  are 
fully  equal  to  the  task  of  sustaining  yourself  and 
family.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  tide  of 
prosperity  has  evidently  turned  against  me.  For 
two  years,  I  have  felt  myself  gradually  going 
back,  instead  of  forward,  notwithstanding  my 
most  earnest  struggles  to  maintain  at  least  the 
position  already  gained.  To-day,  the  notice  of  a 
heavy  loss  completes  my  inability  to  bear  the 
burden  of  your  support,  and  that  of  my  own 
family.  You  must,  therefore,  Charles,  enter  the 
world  for  yourself,  and  there  struggle  as  I  have 
done,  and  as  all  do  around  you,  for  a  living.  But, 
as  I  know  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  tc 
^  obtain  sufficient  practice  at  once  in  either  law  or 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  55 

medicine  to  maintain  yourself,  I  will  spare  you 
out  of  my  income,  which  will  now  be  small  in 
comparison  to  what  it  has  been,  four  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  for  the  next  two  years.  You 
must  yourself  make  up  the  deficiency,  and  no 
doubt  you  can  easily  do  so." 

"  But,  father,"  replied  the  young  man,  his  face 
turning  pale,  "  I  cannot,  possibly,  make  up  the 
deficiency.  Our  rent  alone,  you  know,  is  four 
hundred  dollars." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  Charles.  But  what  then? 
You  must  get  a  house  at  one  half  that  rent,  and 
reduce  your  style  of  living,  proportionably,  in 
other  respects." 

".What!  And  compromise  my  standing  in 
society  ?  I  can  never  do  that,  father." 

"  Charles,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  at  his  son 
with  a  sterner  countenance  than  he  had  ever  yet 
put  on  when  speaking  to  him,  "  remember  that 
you  have  no  standing  in  society  which  you  can 
truly  call  your  own.  I  have,  heretofore,  held 
you  up,  and  now  that  my  sustaining  hand  is 
about  to  be  withdrawn,  you  must  fall  or  rise  to 
your  own  level.  And  1  am  satisfied,  that  the 
sooner  you  are  permitted  to  do  so  the  better." 

The  fact  was,  that  the  selfish,  and  to  old  Mr, 


56  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Fenwick,  the  heartless  manner  in  which  Charles 
had  received  the  communication  of  his  changed 
circumstances,  had  wounded  him  exceedingly 
and  suddenly  opened  his  eyes  to  the  false  rela 
tion  which  his  son  was  holding  to  society. 

"  You  certainly  cannot  be  in  earnest,  father," 
the  son  replied,  after  a  few  moments  of  hurried 
and  painful  thought,  "  in  declaring  your  intention 
of  throwing  me  off  with  a  meagre  pittance  of 
four  hundred  dollars,  before  I  have  had  a  chance 
to  do  any  thing  for  myself.  How  can  I  possibly 
get  along  on  that  sum  ?" 

"  I  do  not  expect  you  to  live  on  that,  Charles. 
But  the  difference  you  will  have  to  make  up 
yourself.  You  have  talents  and  acquirements. 
Bring  them  into  useful  activity,  and  you  will 
need  little  of  my  assistance.  As  for  me,  as  I 
have  already  told  you,  the  tide  of  success  is 
against  me,  and  I  am  gradually  moving  down  the 
stream.  Four  hundred  dollars  is  the  extent  of 
what  I  can  give  you,  and  how  long  the  ability  to 
do  that  may  last,  Heaven  only  knows." 

Reluctantly  the  young  couple  were  compelled 
to  give  up  their  elegantly  arranged  dwelling,  and 
move  into  a  house  of  about  one  half  of  its  dimen* 
eions.     In  this  there  was  a  fixed,  cold,  common 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  57 

place  reality,  that  shocked  the  sensibilities  of  both 
even  though  throughout  the  progress  of  the 
change,  each  had  remained  passive  in  the  hands 
of  the  eider  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fenwick,  who  had  to 
choose  them  a  house,  and  attend  to  all  the 
arrangements  of  moving  and  refitting  the  new 
home.  For  Charles  to  have  engaged  in  the 
vulgar  business  of  moving  household  furniture, 
would  have  been  felt  as  a  disgrace ; — and  as  for 
Adelaide,  she  didn't  know  how  to  do  any  thing 
in  regard  to  the  matter,  and  even  if  she  had, 
would  have  esteemed  such  an  employment  as 
entirely  beneath  her  . 

While  the  packing  up  was  going  on  under  the 
direction  of  her  husband's  mother,  Adelaide,  half 
dressed,  with  an  elegant  shawl  thrown  carelessly 
about  her  shoulders,  her  feet  drawn  up  and  her 
body  reclining  upon  a  sofa,  was  deeply  buried  in 
the  last  new  novel,  while  her  babe  lay  in  the  arms, 
of  a  nurse,  who  was  thus  prevented  from  render- 
ing any  assistance  to  those  engaged  in  preparing 
the  furniture  for  removal.  As  for  her  husband, 
he  was  away,  in  some  professional  friend's  office, 
holding  a  learned  discussion  upon  the  relative 
merits  of  Byron  and  Shelley. 

After  the  removal  had  been  accomplished,  and 


58  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

the  neat  little  dwelling  put,  as  the  elder  Mrs. 
Fenwick  termed  it,  into  "  apple-pie  order"  the 
following  conversation  took  place  between  her 
and  her  daughter-in-law. 

"  Adelaide,  it  will  now  be  necessary  for  you  to 
let  both  your  nurse  and  chambermaid  go.  Charles 
cannot  possibly  afford  the  expense,  as  things  now 
are." 

"  Let  my  nurse  and  chambermaid  go !"  ex- 
claimed Adelaide,  with  a  look  and  tone  of  pro- 
found astonishment. 

"Certainly,  Adelaide,"  was  the  firm  reply. 
"You  cannot  now  afford  to  keep  three  servants." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  along  without  them  ? 
You  do  not,  certainly,  suppose  that  I  can  be  my 
own  nurse  and  chambermaid  ?" 

"  With  your  small  family,"  was  Mrs.  Fenwick's 
reply,  "  you  can  readily  have  the  assistance  of 
your  cook  for  a  portion  of  the  morning  in  your 
chamber  and  parlors.  And  as  to  the  nursing 
part,  I  should  think  that  you  would  desire  no 
higher  pleasure  than  having  all  the  care  of  dear 
little  Anna.  I  was  always  my  own  nurse,  and 
never  had  assistance  beyond  that  of  a  little  girl." 

"  It's  no  use  to  speak  in  that  way,  mother ;  I 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  59 

cannot  do  without  a  nurse,"  said  Adelaide,  burst- 
ing into  tears.    "  I  couldn't  even  dress  the  baby." 

"  The  sooner  you  learn,  child,  the  better,"  was 
the  persevering  reply  of  Mrs.  Fenwick. 

But  Adelaide  had  no  idea  of  dispensing  witL 
either  nurse  or  chambermaid,  both  of  whom 
were  retained  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  and 
entreaties  of  the  mother-in-law. 

Driven  to  the  absolute  necessity  of  doing  so, 
Charles  Fenwick.opened  an  office,  and  advertised 
for  business.  Those  who  have  attempted  to 
make  their  way,  at  first,  in  a  large  city,  at  the 
bar,  can  well  understand  the  disappointment  and 
chagrin  of  Fenwick  on  finding  that  he  did  not 
rise  at  once  to  distinction,  as  he  had  fondly  ima- 
gined he  would,  when  he  turned  his  attention, 
with  strong  reasons  for  desiring  success,  to  the 
practice  of  his  profession.  A  few  petty  cases,  the 
trifling  fees  of  which  he  rejected  as  of  no  consid- 
eration, were  all  that  he  obtained  during  the  firs4 
three  months.  At  the  end  of  this  time  he  found 
himself  in  debt  to  the  baker,  butcher,  milkman, 
tailor,  dry-goods  merchants,  and  to  the  three  ser- 
vants still  pertinaciously  retained  by  his  wife. — • 
And,  as  a  climax  to  the  whole,  his  father's  busi- 
ness was  brought  to  a  termination  by  bankruptcy 


60  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

and  the  old  man,  in  the  decline  of  life,  with 
etiil  a  large  family  dependent  upon  him  for  sup- 
port, thrown  upon  the  world,  to  struggle,  almost 
powerless,  for  a  subsistence.  Fortunately,  the 
Presidency  of  an  Insurance  Company  was  ten- 
dered him,  with  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  dol- 
lars per  annum.  On  this  he  could  barely  support 
those  dependent  upon  him,  leaving  Charles  the 
whole  task  of  maintaining  himself,  his  wife,  and 
their  child. 

To  be  dunned  for  money  was  more  than  the 
young  man  could  endure  with  any  kind  of  pa- 
tience. But  creditor  tradesmen  had  no  nice 
scruples  in  regard  to  these  matters,  and  duns 
came,  consequently,  thick  and  fast,,  until  poor 
Charles  was  irritated  beyond  measure.  Cold, 
and  sometimes  impatient,  and  half  insulting  an- 
swers to  applications  for  money,  were  not  to  be 
endured  by  the  eager  applicants  for  what  was 
justly  their  own.  Warrants  soon  followed,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  which  had  to  be  answered  by  a 
personal  appearanc«  before  city  magistrates,  thus 
causing  the  infliction  of  a  deeper  mortification 
than  had  yet  assailed  him.  Added  to  these  came 
the  importunities  of  his  landlord,  which  was  met 
by  a  response  which  was  deemed  insulting,  and 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  61 

then  came  a  distraint  for  rent.  The  due  bill  of 
the  father,  saved  the  son  this  utter  prostration 
and  disgrace. 

The  effect  of  all  this,  was  to  drive  far  away 
from  their  dwelling  the  sweet  angel  of  peace  and 
contentment.  Fretted  and  troubled  deeply  in 
regard  to  his  present  condition  and  future  pros- 
pects, Charles  had  no  smiling  words  for  his 
wife.  This,  of  course,  pained  her  deeply.  But 
she  readily  found  relief  from  present  reality  in  the 
world  of  pure  romance.  The  more  powerful 
fictions  of  the  day,  especially  the  highly  wrought 
idealities  of  Bulwer,  and  those  of  his  class,  in- 
troduced her  into  a  world  above  that  in  which 
she  dwelt, — and  there  she  lingered  the  greatest 
portion  of  her  time,  unconscious  of  the  calls  of 
duty,  or  the  claims  of  affection. 

A  single  year  sufficed  to  break  them  up 
entirely.  Expenses  far  beyond  their  income, 
which  rose  to  about  three  hundred  dollars  during 
the  first  year  of  Charles'  practice  at  the  bar, 
brought  warrants  and  executions,  which  the 
father  had  no  power  to  stay.  To  satisfy  these, 
furniture  and  library  had  to  be  sold,  and  Charles 
and  his  wife,  child  and  nurse,  which  latter  Ade- 


62  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

laide   would  retain,  were  thrown  upon  old  Mr. 
Fenwick,  for  support. 

For  four  years  did  they  remain  a  burden  upon 
the  father,  during  which  time,  unstimulated  to 
xertion  by  pressing  necessities,  Chai-les  made  but 
*ttle  progress  as  a  lawyer.  Petty  cases  he  des- 
pised, and  generally  refused  to  undertake,  and 
those  of  more  importance  were  not  trusted  to  one 
who  had  yet  to  prove  himself  worthy  of  a  high 
degree  of  legal  confidence.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  both  his  father  and  mother  were  suddenly 
removed  to  the  world  of  spirits,  and  he  was  again 
thrown  entirely  upon  his  own  resources. 

With  no  one  now  to  check  them  in  any  thing 
Charles  and  his  wife,  after  calculating  the  results 
of  the  next  year's  legal  efforts,  felt  fully  justfied 
in  renting  a  handsome  house,  and  furnishing  it  on 
credit.  The  proceeds  of  the  year's  practice  rose 
but  little  above  four  hundred  dollars,  and  at  its 
conclusion  they  found  themselves  involved  in  a 
new  debt  of  three  thousand  dollars.  Then  came 
another  breaking  up,  with  all  of  its  harrowing 
consequences — consequences  which  to  persons  of 
their  habits  and  mode  of  thinking,  are  so  deeply 
mortifying, — followed  by  their  shrinking  away, 
with  a  meagre  remnant  of  their  furniture,  into  a 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  63 

couple  of  rooms,  in  an  obscure  part  of  the 
town. 

"  Adelaide,"  said  the  husband,  one  morning,  as 
he  roused  himself  from  a  painful  reverie. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?"  she  asked  abstrac- 
tedly,  litting  her  eyes  with  reluctant  air  from  the 
pages  of  a  novel. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  little  while ;  so 
shut  your  book,  if  you  please." 

"  "Won't  some  other  time  do  as  well  ?  I  have 
just  got  into  the  middle  of  a  most  interesting 
scene." 

"  No — I  wish  to  talk  with  you  now." 

"  Well,  say  on,"  the  wife  rejoined,  closing  the 
book  in  her  hand,  with  her  thumb  resting  upon 
the  page  that  still  retained  her  thoughts,  and  as- 
suming an  attitude  of  reluctant  attention. 

"  There  is  a  school  vacant  at  N ,  some 

twenty  miles  from  the  city.  The  salary  is  eight 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  with  a  house  and  garden 
included.  I  can  get  the  situation,  if  I  will  accept 
fit." 

"  And  sink  to  the  condition  of  a  miserable 
country  pedagogue  ?" 

"  And  support  my  family  comfortably  and  hon 
estly,"  Eenwick  replied  in  a  tone  of  bitterness. 


64  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"Precious  little  comfort  will  your  family  ex- 
perience immured  in  an  obscure  country  village, 
without  a  single  congenial  associate.  What  in 
the  name  of  wonder  has  put  that  into  your  nead  ?" 

"  Adelaide !  I  cannot  succeed  at  the  bar — at 
least,  not  for  years.  Of  that  I  am  fully  satisfied. 
It  is  absolutely  necessary,  therefore,  that  I  should 
turn  my  attention  to  something  that  will  supply 
the  pressing  demands  of  my  family." 

"  But  surely  you  can  get  into  something  better 
thau  the  office  of  schoolmaster,  to  the  sons  of 
clodpoles." 

"  Name  something." 

"  I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell.  That  is  a  matter  for 
you  to  think  about,"  and  so  saying,  Mrs.  Fenwick 
re-opened  her  book,  and  commenced  poring  again 
over  the  pages  of  the  delightful  work  she  held  in 
her  hand. 

Irritated,  and  half  disgusted  at  this,  a  severe 
reproof  trembled  on  his  tongue,  but  he  suppressed 
it.  In  a  few  minutes  after  he  arose,  and  left  the 
apartment  without  his  wife  seeming  to  notice  the 
movement. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Fenwick !"  said  a  well 
known  individual,  coming  into  the  lawyer's  office 
a  few  minutes  after  he  had  himself  entered. 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  65 

''That  trial   comes   on  this  afternoon    at  four 
o'clock." 

"  Well,  John,  I  can't  help  it.  The  debt  is  a 
just  one,  but  I  have  no  means  of  meeting  it 
now." 

"  Try,  and  do  so  if  you  can,  Mr.  Fenwick,  for 
the  plaintiff  is  a  good  deal  irritated  about  the 
matter,  and  will  push  the  thing  to  extremities." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  for  that.  But  if  so,  let 
him  use  his  own  pleasure.  Take  nothing  from 
nothing,  and  nothing  remains." 

"  You  had  better  come  then  with  security,  Mr. 
Fenwick,  for  my  orders  are,  to  have  an  execution 
issued  against  your  person,  as  soon  as  the  case  is 
decided." 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  John  ?"  suddenly 
ejaculated  the  lawyer,  rising  to  his  feet,  and  look- 
ing at  the  humble  minister  of  the  law  with  a  pale 

cheek  and  quivering  lip.     "  Surely  Mr. is 

not  going  to  push  matters  to  so  uncalled-for  an 
extremity  !" 

"  Such,  he  positively  declares,  is  his  fixed  de- 
termination. So  hold  yourself  prepared,  sir,  to 
meet  even  this  unpleasant  event." 

The  debt  for  which  the  warrant  had  been  issued 
against  Mr.  Fenwick,  amounted  to  ninety  dollars. 


66  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

The  whole  of  the  remaining  part  of  that  day  waa 
spent  in  the  effort  to  obtain  security  in  the  case. 
But  in  vain.  His  friends  knew  too  well  his  in- 
ability to  protect  them  from  certain  loss,  should 
hey  step  between  him  and  the  law.  Talents, 
education,  brilliant  addresses,  fine  poetry  "and 
all  that,"  turned  to  no  good  and  useful  ends,  he 
found  availed  him  nothing  now.  Even  many  of 
those  with  whom  he  had  been  in  intimate  liter- 
ary association,  shrunk  away  from  the  penniless 
individual,  and  those  who  did  not  actually  shun 
him  had  lost  much  of  their  former  cordiality. 

The  idea  of  being  sent  to  jail  for  debt,  was  to 
him  a  terrible  one.  And  he  turned  from  it  with 
a  sinking  at  the  heart.  He  said  nothing  to  Ade- 
laide on  returning  home  in  the  evening,  for  the 
high  communion  of  spirit,  in  which  they  had  pro- 
mised themselves  such  deep  and  exquisite  delight, 
had  long  since  given  place  to  coldness,  and  a 
state  of  non-sympathy.  He  found  her  deeply 
iuried,  as  usual,  in  some  volume  of  romance, 
while  every  thing  around  her  was  in  disorder, 
and  full  of  unmitigated  realities.  They  were 
living  alone  in  two  small  rooms,  and  the  duty  of 
keeping  them  in  order  and  providing  their  frugal 
meals  devolved  as  a  heavy  task  upon  Adelaide — 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  67 

so  heavy,  that  she  found  it  utterly  impossible  to 
do  it  justice. 

The  fire — that  essential  preliminary  to  house- 
hold  operations — had  not  even  been  made,  when 
Fenwick  reached  home,  and  the  dinner  table  re- 
mained still  on  the  floor,  with  its  unwashed  dishes 
strewn  over  it,  in  admirable  confusion. 

"With  a  sigh,  Adelaide  resigned  her  book,  soon 
after  her  husband  came  in,  and  commenced  pre- 
parations for  the  evening  meal.  This  was  soon 
ready,  and  despatched  in  silence,  except  so  far  aa 
the  aimless  prattle  of  their  little  girl  interrupted 
it.  Tea  over,  Mrs.  Fenwick  put  Anna  to  bed, 
much  against  her  will,  and  then  drew  up  to  the 
table  again  with  her  book. 

Cheerless  and  companionless  did  her  husband 
feel  as  he  let  his  eye  fall  upon  her,  buried  in  Bel- 
fish  enjoyment,  while  his  own  heart  was  wrung 
with  the  bitterest  recollections  and  the  most  heart- 
sickening  anticipations. 

Thoughts  of  the  gaming  table  passed  through 
his  mind,  and  with  the  thought  he  placed  his 
hand  involuntarily  upon  his  pocket.  It  was  empty. 
Sometimes  his  mind  would  rise  into  a  state  of 
vigorous  activity,  with  the  internal  consciousness 
of  a  power  to  do  any  thing.  But,  alas — it  was 


08  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

strength  without  skill — intellectual  power  without 
the  knowledge  to  direct  it  aright. 

Late  on  the  next  morning  he  arose  from  a  pil- 
low that  had  been  blessed  with  but  little  sleep, 
and  that  unrefreshing.  It  was  past  eleven  o'clock 
before  Adelaide  had  breakfast  on  the  table.  This 
over,  she,  without  even  dressing  Anna  or  ar- 
ranging her  own  person  sat  down  to  her  novel, 
while  he  gave  himself  to  the  most  gloomy  and 
desponding  reflections.  He  feared  to  go  out  lest 
the  first  man  he  should  meet,  should  prove  an 
officer  with  an  execution  upon  his  person. 

About  one  o'clock,  sick  and  weary  of  such  a 
comfortless  home,  he  went  out,  glad  of  any 
change.  Ten  steps  from  his  own  door,  he  was 
met  by  a  constable  who  conveyed  him  to  prison. 

Several  hours  passed  before  his  crushed  feel- 
ings were  aroused  sufficiently  to  cause  him  even 
to  think  of  any  meaus  of  extrication.  When  his 
mind  did  act,  it  was  with  clearness,  vigor,  and 
decision.  The  walls  of  a  jail  had  something  toa 
nearly  like  reality  about  them,  to  leave  much  of 
the  false  sentiment  which  had  hitherto  marred  hia 
prospects  in  life.  There  waa,  too,  something 
deeply  humiliating  in  his  condition  of  an  impris- 
oned debtor. 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITY.  69 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  he  asked  himself,  towards 
the  close  of  the  day,  with  a  strong  resolution  to 
discover  the  best  course  of  action,  and  to  pursue 
that  course,  unswayed  by  any  extraneous  influ- 
ences. The  thought  of  his  wife  came  across  his 
mind. 

"  Shall  I  send  her  word  where  I  arn  ?" — A 
pause  of  some  moments  succeeded  this  ques- 
tion." 

"  No,"  he  at  length  said,  half  aloud,  while  an 
expression  of  pain  flitted  over  his  countenance. 
"  It  is  of  little  consequence  to  her  where  I  am  or 
what  I  suffer.  She  is,  I  believe,  perfectly  heart- 
less. 

But  Fenwick  was  mistaken  in  this.  She  need- 
ed, as  well  as  himself,  some  powerful  shock  to 
a  waken  her  to  true  consciousness.  That  shock  prov- 
ed to  be  the  knowledge  of  her  husband's  imprison- 
ment for  debt,  which  she  learned  early  on  the  next 
norning,  after  the  passage  of  an  anxious  and 
sleepless  night,  full  of  strange  forebodings  of 
approaching  evil.  She  repaired,  instantly,  to  the 
prison,  her  heart  melted  down  into  true  feeling. 
The  interview  between  herself  and  husband  waa 
full  of  tenderness,  bringing  out  from  each  heart 


70  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

the  mutual  affections  which  had  been  sleeping 
there,  alas  !  too  long. 

But  one  right  course  presented  itself  to  the  mind 
of  either  of  them,  and  that  was  naturally  ap 
proved  by  both,  as  the  only  proper  one.  It  was 
for  Fenwick  to  come  out  of  prison  under  the  act 
of  insolvency,  and  thus  free  himself  from  the  tram- 
mels of  past  obligations,  which  could  not  possibly 
be  met. 

This  was  soon  accomplished,  the  requisite 
security  for  his  personal  appearance  to  interro- 
gatories being  readily  obtained. 

"  And  now,  Adelaide,  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  he 
asked  of  his  wife,  as  he  sat  holding  her  hand  in 
his,  during  the  first  hour  of  his  release  from  im- 
prisonment. His  own  mind  had  already  decided 
— still  he  was  anxious  for  her  suggestion,  if  she 
had  any  to  make. 

"  Can  you  still  obtain  that  school  you  spoke  of?'1 
she  asked  with  much  interest  in  her  tone. 

"  Yes.     The  offer  is  still  open." 

"Then  take  it,  Charles,  by  all  means.      One 
such  lesson  as  we  have  had,  is  enough  for  a  life 
time.      Satisfied  am  I,  now,  that  we  have  not 
tought  for  happiness  in  the  right  paths." 
,   The  school  was  accordingly  taken,  and  with 


ROMANCE    AND    REALITV.  71 

humbled  feelings,  modest  expectations,  and  a  mu- 
tual resolution  to  be  satisfied  with  little,  did 
Charles  Fenwick  and  his  wife  re-commence  the 
world  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  That  he  was 
sincere  in  his  new  formed  resolutions,  is  eviden 
from  the  fact,  that  in  a  few  years  he  became  th 
principal  of  a  popular  literary  institution,  for 
which  office  he  was  fully  qualified.  She,  too, 
learned,  by  degrees,  to  act  well  her  part  in  all 
her  relations,  social  and  domestic — and  uow  finds 
far  more  pleasure  in  the  realities,  than  she  ever 
did  in  the  romance  of  life. 


"  OF  course,  both  are  to  blame." 

"  Of  course.  You  may  always  set  that  down 
as  certain  when  you  see  two  persons  who  have 
formerly  been  on  good  terms  fall  out  with  each 
other.  For  my  part,  I  never  take  sides  in  these 
matters.  I  listen  to  what  both  have  to  say,  and 
make  due  allowance  for  the  wish  of  either 
party  to  make  his  or  her  own  story  appear  most 
favorable." 

Thus  we  heard  two  persons  settling  a  matter 
of  difference  between  a  couple  of  their  friends, 
and  it  struck  us  at  the  time  as  not  being  exactly 
the  true  way  in  all  cases.  In  disputes  and  dif- 


BOTH    TO    BLAME.  73 

ferences,  there  are  no  doubt  times  when  bott  are 
equally  to  blame ;  most  generally,  however,  one 
party  ia  more  to  blame  than  the  other.  And  it 
not  unfrequently  happens  that  one  party  to  a  dif- 
ference is  not  at  all  to  blame,  but  merely  stands 
on  a  just  and  honorable  defensive.  The  follow- 
ing story,  which  may  or  may  not  be  from  real  life, 
will  illustrate  the  latter  position. 

"  Did  you  hear  about  Mrs.  Bates  and  Mrs. 
Tarleton?"  said  one  friend  to  another. 

"  No  ;  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  They  are  up  in  arms  against  each  other." 

"  Indeed ;  it's  the  first  I've  heard  of  it.  "What 
is  the  cause  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  tell ;  but  I  know  that  they  don't 
speak.  Mrs.  Tarleton  complains  bitterly  against 
Mrs.  Bates ;  and  Mrs.  Bates,  they  say,  is  just  as 
bitter  against  her.  For  my  part,  I've  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  both  are  to  blame." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that  I  never  knew  a 
•ase  of  this  kind  where  both  were  not  to  blame." 

"  Nor  I." 

But  don't  you  know  the  ground  of  the  differ- 
ence ?" 

"  They  say  it  is  about  a  head-dress." 

"  I'll  be  bound  dress  has  something  to  do  with 
4 


74  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

it,"  grumbled  out  Mr.  Brierly,  the  husband  of 
one  of  the  ladies,  who  sat  reading  a  newspaper 
while  they  were  talking. 

"  My  husband  is  disposed  to  be  a  little  severe 
on  the  ladies  at  times,  but  you  musn't  mind  him. 
I  never  do,"  remarked  Mrs.  Brierly,  half  sarcas- 
tically, although  she  looked  at  her  husband  with  a 
smile  as  she  spoke.  "  He  thinks  we  care  for  no- 
thing but  dress.  I  tell  him  it  is  very  well  for 
him  and  the  rest  of  the  world  that  we  have  some 
little  regard  at  least  to  such  matters.  I  am  sure 
if  I  didn't  think  a  good  deal  about  dress,  he 
and  the  children  would  soon  look  like  scare- 
crows." 

Mr.  Brierly  responded  to  this  by  a  "  Humph !" 
and  resumed  the  perusal  of  his  newspaper. 

"  It  is  said,"  resumed  Mrs.  Brierly,  who  had 
been  asked  to  state  the  cause  of  the  unhappy  dif- 
ference existing  between  the  two  ladies,  "  that 
Mrs.  Bates  received  from  her  sister  in  New  York 
a  new  and  very  beautiful  head-dress,  which  had 
been  obtained  through  a  friend  in  Paris.  Mrs. 
Tarleton  wanted  it  very  badly,  and  begged  Mrs. 
Bates  for  the  pattern ;  but  she  refused  to  let  her 
have  it,  because  a  grand  party  was  to  be  giveu 
by  the  Listens  in  a  few  weeks,  and  she  wanted  to 


BOTH    TO    BLAME.  75 

show  it  off  there  herself.  Mrs.  Tarleton,  however, 
was  not  going  to  take '  no'  for  an  answer  ;  she  had 
set  her  heart  upon  the  head-dress  and  must  have 
it.  You  know  what  a  persevering  woman  she  i 
when  she  takes  anything  into  her  head.  Well, 
she  called  in  almost  every  day  to  see  Mrs.  Bates, 
and  every  time  she  would  have,  something  to  say 
about  the  head-dress,  and  ask  to  see  it.  In  this 
way  she  got  the  pattern  of  it  so  perfectly  in  her 
mind  that  she  was  able  to  direct  a  milliner  how 
to  make  her  one  precisely  like  it.  All  unknown 
to  Mrs.  Bates,  Mrs.  Tarleton  came  to  the  party 
wearing  this  new  style  of  head-dress,  which  made 
her  so  angry  when  she  discovered  it,  that  she  in- 
sulted Mrs.  Tarleton  openly,  and  then  retired  from 
the  company." 

"  Is  it  possible  !" 

"  That,  I  believe,  is  about  the  truth  of  the  whole 
matter.  I  have  sifted  it  pretty  closely." 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  I  was  at  the  party,  but  1 
saw  nothing  of  this.  I  remember  Mrs.  Tarle- 
ton's  head-dress,  however,  very  well,  it  certain- 
ly was  very  beautiful,  and  has  become  quite  fash- 
ionable since." 

"  Yes,  and  is  called  by  some  the  Tarleton 
head-dress,  from  the  first  wearer  of  it." 


76  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  This  no  doubt  galls  Mrs.  Bates  severely 
They  say  she  is  a  vain  woman." 

"  It  is  more  than  probable  that  this  circum 
stance  has  widened  the  breach." 

"  I  must  say,"  remarked  the  other  lady,  "  thai 
Mrs.  Tarleton  did  not  act  well." 

"  No,  she  certainly  did  not.  At  the  same  time, 
I  think  Mrs.  Bates  was  served  perfectly  right  for 
her  selfish  vanity.  It  wouldn't  have  hurt  her  at 
all  if  there  had  been  two  or  three  head-dresses 
there  of  exactly  the  pattern  of  hers.  But  extreme 
vanity  always  gets  mortified,  and  in  this  case  I 
think  justly  so." 

"  Besides,  it  was  very  unladylike  to  insult 
Mrs.  Tarleton  in  public." 

"  YeS)  or  anywhere  else.  She  should  have 
taken  no  notice  of  it  whatever.  A  true  lady, 
under  circumstances  of  this  kind,  seems  perfectly 
unaware  of  what  has  occurred.  She  shuns,  with 
the  utmost  carefulness,  any  appearance  of  an 
.affront  at  so  trivial  a  matter,  even  if  she  feels  it." 

Such  was  the  opinion  entertained  by  the  ladies 
in  regard  to  the  misunderstanding,  as  some  others 
called  it,  that  existed  between  Mrs.  Bates  and 
Mrs.  Tarleton.  Both  were  considered  to  blame, 
and  nearly  equally  so ;  but  whether  the  parties 


BOTH   TO   BLAME.  77 

really  misunderstood  their  own  or  each  other's 
true  position  will  be  seen  when  the  truth  appears. 

Mrs.  Bates  did  receive,  as  has  been  stated,  a 
beautiful  head-dress  from  a  sister  in  New  York, 
who  had  obtained  it  from  a  friend  in  Paris.  The 
Btyle  was  quite  attractive,  though  neither  unbe- 
coming nor  showy.  Mrs.  Bates  had  her  own 
share  of  vanity,  and  wished  to  appear  at  a  large 
party  soon  to  take  place,  in  this  head-dress,  where 
she  knew  it  must  attract  attention.  Although  a 
little  vain,  a  fault  that  we  can  easily  excuse  in  a 
handsome  woman,  Mrs.  Bates  had  a  high  sense 
of  justice  and  right,  and  possessed  all  a  lady's 
true  delicacy  of  feeling. 

The  head-dress,  after  being  admired,  was  laid 
aside  for  the  occasion  refrered  to.  A  few  days 
afterwards,  Mrs.  Tarleton,  an  acquaintance,  drop- 
ped in. 

"  I  have  something  beautiful  to  show  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Bates,  after  she  had  chatted  awhile  with  her 
visitor. 

"  Indeed  !     What  is  it  ?" 

"  The  sweetest  head-dress  yeu  ever  saw.  My 
sister  sent  it  to  me  from  New  York,  and  she  had 
it  direct  from  a  friend  in  Paris,  where  it  was  all 
the  fashion.  Mine  I  believe  to  be  the  only  one 


78  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

yet  received  in  the  city,  and  I  mean  to  wear  it  at 
Mrs.  Liston's  party. 

"  Do  let  me  see  it,"  said  Mrs.  Tarleton,  all  alive 
with  expectation.  She  had  an  extravagant  love 
)f  dress,  and  was  an  exceedingly  vain  woman. 

The  head-dress  was  produced.  Mrs.  Tarleton 
lifted  her  hands  and  eyes. 

"  The  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw  !  Let  me  try 
it  on,"  she  said,  laying  off  her  bonnet  and  taking 
the  head-dress  from  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Bates. 
"  Oh,  it  is  sweet !  I  never  looked  so  well  in  any- 
thing in  my  life,"  she  continued,  viewing  herself 
in  the  glass.  "  I  wish  I  could  beg  it  from  you ; 
but  that  I  havn't  the  heart  to  do." 

Mrs.  Bates  smiled  and  shook  her  head,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"  Here,  you  put  it  on,  and  let  me  see  how  you 
look  in  it,"  went  on  Mrs.  Tarleton,  removing  the 
cap  from  her  own  head  and  placing  it  upon  that 
of  her  friend.  "  Beautiful !  How  well  it  becomes 
ou !  you  must  let  me  have  the  pattern.  We  can 
wear  them  together  at  the  party.  Two  will  attract 
more  attention  than  one." 

"  I  am  scrry  to  deny  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Bates, 
"  but  I  think  I  shall  have  to  be  alone  in  my  .glory 
this  time." 


BOTH    TO    BLAME.  79 

"  Indeed,  you  must  let  me  have  the  pattern, 
Mrs.  Bates.  I  never  saw  anything  in  my  life  that 
pleased  me  so  much,  nor  anything  in  which  I 
looked  so  well.  I  have  been  all  over  town  for  a 
head-dress  without  fnding  anything  I  would 
wear.  If  you  don't  let  me  have  one  like  yours,  I 
do  not  know  what  I  will  do.  Come  now,  say  yes, 
that  is  a  dear." 

But  Mrs.  Bates  said  no  as  gently  as  she  could. 
It  was  asking  of  her  too  much.  She  had  set  her 
heart  upon  appearing  in  that  head-dress  as  some- 
thing new  and  beautiful,  and  could  not  consent 
to  share  the  distinction,  especially  with  Mrs. 
Tarleton,  for  whom,  although  a  friend,  she  enter- 
tained not  the  highest  esteem,  and  for  the  reason 
that  Mrs.  Tarleton  had  rather  a  vulgar  mind,  and 
lacked  a  lady's  true  perceptions  of  propriety. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you  are  a  selfish  woman," 
returned  Mrs.  Tarleton,  good-humoredly,  and  yet 
meaning  what  she  said.  "  It  wouldn't  do  you  a 
bit  of  harm  to  let  me  have  the  pattern,  and  would 
gratify  me  more  than  I  can  tell." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  Bates, 
to  this,  with  a  reluctant  effort  that  was  readily 
perceived  by  her  visitor,  "  I  will  give  you  the  head- 


80  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

dress  and  let  you  wear  it,  as  long  as  you  seem  to 
have  set  your  heart  so  upon  it." 

"  Oh  no,  no ;  you  know  I  wouldn't  do  that. 
But  it  seems  strange  that  you  are  not  willing  for 
us  to  wear  the  same  head-dress." 

The  indelicate  pertinacity  of  her  visitor  annoy, 
ed  Mrs.  Bates  very  much,  and  she  replied  to  this 
rather  more  seriously  than  she  had  before 
spoken. 

"  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Tarleton,"  she  said,  "  this 
head-dress  is  one  that  cannot  fail  to  attract  atten- 
tion. I  have  several  very  intimate  friends,  be- 
tween whom  and  myself  relations  of  even  a  closer 
kind  exist  than  have  yet  existed  between  you  and 
me.  If  I  give  you  the  pattern  of  this  cap  and  the 
privilege  of  wearing  it  with  me  for  the  first  time 
it  is  seen  in  this  city,  these  friends  will  have  just 
cause  to  think  hard  of  me  for  passing  them  by. 
This  is  a  reason  that  would  inevitably  prevent 
me  from  meeting  your  wishes,  even  if  I  were  in 
different  about  appearing  in  it  myself  alone." 

"  I  suppose  I  must  give  it  up,  then,",  said  Mrs. 
Tarleton,  in  a  slightly  disappointed  tone. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  returned  Mrs.  Bates,  "  1 
will  defer  the  matter  entirely  to  you  You  shall 


BOTH    TO    BLAME.  81 

have  the  head-dress  and  I  will  choose  some  other 
one." 

"  Oh  no ;  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Tarleton.  That  is  more  than  I  ought 
to  ask  or  you  to  give." 

"  It  is  the  best  I  can  do,"  Mrs.  Bates  said,  with 
a  quiet  smile. 

"  Sister,"  said  Mrs.  Tarleton,  on  returning 
home,  "  you  can't  imagine  what  a  sweet  head- 
dress Mrs.  Bates  has  just  received  from  Paris 
through  her  sister  in  New  York.  It  is  the  most 
unique  and  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw.  I  tried 
hard  for  the  pattern,  but  the  selfish  creature 
wouldn't  let  me  have  it.  She  is  keeping  it  for 
the  Liston's  party,  where  it  will  be  the  admiration 
of  every  one." 

"  What  is  it  like  ?'; 

"  Oh,  I  can't  begin  to  describe  it.  It  is  alto- 
gether novel.  I  wish  now  I  had  asked  her  to  let 
me  bring  it  home  to  show  it  to  you." 

"  I  wish  you  had.  You  must  go  there  again 
and  get  it  for  me." 

"  I  believe  I  will  call  in  again  to-morrow. — 
Perhaps  she  will  have  thought  better  of  it  by  that 
time,  and  changed  her  mind.  At  any  rate,  if  not, 
4* 


82  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

I  will  ask  her  to  let  me  bring  it  home  and  show 
it  to  you," 

This  was  done.  Mrs.  Bates  did  not  object  to 
etting  Mrs.  Tarleton  take  the  head-dress  and 
show  it  to  her  sister,  for  she  had  the  fullest  confi- 
dence that  she  would  not  do  anything  with  it 
that  she  knew  was  against  her  wishes,  which  had 
been  clearly  expressed. 

The  sister  of  Mrs.  Tarleton  was  ift  raptures 
with  the  head-dress. 

"It  is  right  down  mean  and  selfish  in  Mrs. 
Bates  not  to  let  you  have  the  pattern,"  she  said. 
"  What  a  vain  woman  she  must  be.  I  always 
thought  better  of  her." 

"  So  did  I.     But  this  shows  what  she  is." 

"  If  I  were  you,"  remarked  the  sister,  "  I 
would  have  it  in  spite  of  her.  It  isn't  her  pattern, 
that  she  need  pretend  hold  it  so  exclusively.  It 
is  a  Paris  fashion,  and  any  body  else  may  get  it 
iust  as  well  as  she.  Sne  has  no  property  in  it." 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  Then  while  you  have  the  chance,  take  it  to 
Madame  Pinto  and  get  her  to  make  you  one  ex- 
actly like  it." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  do  it ;  it  would  serve 
her  perfectly  right." 


BOTH   TO    BLAME.  83 

"  I  wouldn't  hesitate  a  moment,"  urged  the 
sister.  "At  the  last  party,  Mrs.  Bates  managed 
to  have  on  something  new  that  attracted  every 
one  and  threw  others,  into  the  shade,  I  wouldn't 
let  her  have  another  such  triumph." 

Thus  urged  by  her  sister,  Mrs.Tarleton  yielded 
to  the  evil  counsel,  which  was  seconded  by  her 
own  heart.  The  head-dress  was  taken  to  Madame 
Pinto,  who,  after  a  careful  examination  of  it,  said 
that  she  would  make  one  exactly  similar  for  Mrs. 
Tarleton.  After  charging  the  milliner  over  and 
over  again  to  keep  the  matter  a  profound  secret, 
Mrs.  Tarleton  went  away  and  returned  the  head- 
dress to  Mrs.  Bates.  It  had  been  in  her  possession 
only  a  couple  of  hours. 

Mrs.  Pinto  was  a  fashionable  milliner  and  dress 
'  maker,  and  was  patronized  by  the  most  fashion- 
able people  in  the  city,  Mrs.  Bates  among  the 
rest.  The  latter  had  called  in  the  aid  of  this  wo- 
man in  the  preparation  of  various  little  matters 
of  dress  to  be  worn  at  the  party.  Three  or  four 
days  after  Mrs.  Tarleton's  visit  to  Mrs.  Pinto 
with  the  head-dress,  Mrs.  Bates  happened  to  step 
in  at  the  milliner's,  who,  during  their  consulta- 
tion, about  little  matters  of  dress,  drew  the  lady 
aside,  saying — "I've  got  something  that  I  know  I 


84  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

can  venture  to  show  you. — It's  for  the  party,  and 
the  loveliest  thing  you  ever  saw." 

As  she  said  this  she  took  from  a  box  a  fac- 
simile of  Mrs.  Bates,  own  beautiful  head-dreas, 
and  held  it  up  with  looks  of  admiration. 

"  Isn't  it  sweet  ?"  she  said. 

"It  is  the  most  beautiful  head-dress  I  ever 
saw,"  replied  Mrs.  Bates,  concealing  her  sur- 
prise. "  Who  is  it  for  ?" 

"  It's  a  secret,  but  I  can  tell  you.  It  is  for 
Mrs.  Tarleton." 

"  Ah !    Where  did  she  get  the  pattern  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  she  brought  it  here,  but  said 
she  couldn't  leave  it  for  the  world.  I  had  to 
study  it  all  out,  and  then  make  it  from  my  recol- 
lection of  the  pattern." 

"  The  pattern  did  not  belong  to  her  ?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Somebody  had  it  who  was  going  to 
show  it  off  at  the  party,  she  said  ;  but  she  meant 
to  surprise  her." 

' "  Have  you  any  new  patterns  for  head-dresses 
not  chosen  by  the  ladies  who  have  made  selec- 
tions of  you  for  Mrs.  Liston's  party  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bates,  not  seeming  to  notice  the  reply  of 
Mrs.  Pinto. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  a  good  many ;"  and  half-a- 


BOTH   TO   BLAME.  85 

dozen  realiy  handsome  head-dresses  were  shown 
— none,  however,  that  pleased  her  half  so  well  as 
the  one  she  was  about  throwing  aside.  She  suit- 
ed herself  from  the  assortment  shown  her,  and 
directed  it  to  be  sent  home. 

Mrs.  Bates  felt  justly  outraged  at  the  conduct 
of  Mrs.  Tarleton,  but  she  did  not  speak  of  what 
had  taken  place,  except  to  one  or  two  very  inti- 
mate friends  and  to  her  husband.  The  evening 
of  the  party  at  length  arrived.  Mrs.  Tarleton 
was  there  a  little  earlier  than  Mrs.  Bates,  in  all 
the  glory  of  her  ungenerous  triumph.  The  beau- 
tiful head-dress  she  wore  attracted  every  eye,  and 
in  the  admiration  won  by  the  display  of  her  taste, 
she  lost  all  the  shame  she  had  felt  in  anticipation 
of  meeting  Mrs.  Bates,  to  whom  her  meanness 
and  dishonesty  would  be  at  once  apparent. 

At  length  she  saw  this  lady  enter  the  parlors 
by  the  side  of  her  husband,  and  noticed  with  sur- 
prise that  her  head-dress  was  entirely  different 
"rom  the  one  she  wore.  The  truth  flashed  across 
ner  mind.  Mrs.  Pinto  had  betrayed  her  secret, 
and  Mrs.  Bates,  justly  outraged  by  what  had 
occurred,  had  thrown  aside  her  beautiful  cap  and 
selected  another. 

Now  Mrs.  Bates  was  a  woman  whom  Mra 


86  HOME    LI3HTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

Tarleton  would  be  sorry  to  offend  seriously,  be 
cause  her  position  ji  certain  circles  was  undoubt- 
ed, while  her  own  was  a  little  questionable.  The 
fact  that  Mrs.  Bates  had  declined  wearing  so 
beautiful  a  head-dress  because  she  had  obtained 
one  of  the  same  pattern  by  unfair  means,  made 
her  fear  that  serious  offence  had  been  given,  and 
dashed  her  spirits  at  once.  She  was  not  long  left 
in  doubt.  Before  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  she 
was  thrown  into  immediate  contact  with  Mrs. 
Bates,  from  whom  she  received  a  polite  but  cold 
bow. 

Mrs.  Tarleton  was  both  hurt  and  offended  at 
this,  and  immediately  after  the  party,  commenced 
talking  about  it  and  mis-stating  the  whole  trans- 
action, so  as  not  to  appear  so  much  to  blame  as 
ehe  really  was.  Mrs.  Bates,  on  the  contrary,  said 
little  on  the  subject,  except  to  a  few  very  intimate 
friends,  and  to  those  who  made  free  to  ask  her 
about  it,  to  whom  she  said,  after  giving  fairly  the 
cause  of  complaint  against  Mrs.  Tarleton — M  I 
spoke  to  her  coldly  because  I  wished  our  more 
intimate  acquaintance  to  cease.  Her  conduct  was 
unworthy  of  a  lady,  and  therefore  I  cannot  and 
will  not  consider  her  among  my  friends.  No 
apologies,  if  she  would  even  make  them,  could 


1JOTH   TO    BLAME.  87 

change  the  wrong  spirit  from  which  she  acted,  or 
make  her  any  more  worthy  of  my  confidence,  es- 
teem or  love." 

"  But  you  will  surely  forgive  her  ?"  said  one. 

"  The  wrong  done  to  me  I  am  ready  enough  tc 
forgive,  for  it  is  but  a  trifling  matter ;  but  the 
violation  of  confidence  and  departure  from  a  truly 
honest  principle,  of  which  she  has  been  guilty,  I 
cannot  forgive,  for  they  are  not  sins  against  me, 
but  against  Heaven's  first  and  best  laws." 

But  that  did  not  satisfy  some.  Persons  calling 
themselves  mutual  friends  strove  hard  to  recon- 
cile what  they  were  pleased  to  call  a  misunder- 
standing in  which  "  both  were  to  blame."  But 
it  availed  not.  To  their  interference,  Mrs.  Bates 
usually  replied — "  If  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to 
Mrs.  Tarleton  to  be  recognized  by  me  and  treat- 
ed kindly  and  politely  in  company,  I  will  most 
cheerfully  yield  her  all  that;  but  I  cannot  feel 
towards  her  as  heretofore,  because  I  have  been 
deceived  in  her,  and  find  her  to  be  governed  by 
principles  that  I  cannot  approve.  We  can  never 
again  be  on  terms  of  intimacy." 

But  it  was  impossible  to  make  some  understand 
the  difference  between  acting  from  principle  and 
wounded  pride.  The  version  given  by  Mrs. 


88  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

Tarleton  was  variously  modified  as  it  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  until  it  made  Mrs.  Bates  almost 
as  much  to  blame  as  herself,  and  finally,  as  th 
coldness  continued  until  all  intercourse  at  las* 
ceased,  it  was  pretty  generally  conceded,  excep 
by  a  very  few,  that  "  both  were  about  equally  t< 
blame." 

The  reader  can  now  make  up  his  own  mind  on 
the  subject  from  what  has  been  related.  For  our 
part,  we  do  not  think  Mrs.  Bates  at  all  to  blame 
in  at  once  withdrawing  herself  from  intimate  as- 
sociation with  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Tarleton 
showed  herself  to  be,  and  we  consider  that  a  false 
charity  which  would  seek  to  interfere  with  or  set 
aside  the  honest  indignation  that  should  always 
be  felt  in  similar  cases  of  open  betrayal  of  confi- 
dence and  violation  of  honest  and  honorable  prin- 
ciples. 

We  have  chosen  a  very  simple  and  common- 
place incident  upon  which  to  "  hang  a  moral." — 
But  it  is  in  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  business  and 
pleasure  where  the  true  character  is  most  prone 
to  exhibit  itself,  and  we  must  go  there  if  we  would 
read  the  book  of  human  life  aright. 


IT   8  NONE   OF  MY  BUSINESS. 


"  WAS  N'T  that  young  Sanford  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Larkin  of  her  husband,  as  the  two  stood  at  a 
window  of  their  dwelling  one  Sunday  afternoon, 
noticing  the  passers  by.  The  individual  she 
alluded  to  was  a  young  man  who  had  ridden 
gaily  along  on  a  spirited  horse. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  He  rides  past  here  almost  every  Sunday  af 
ternoon,  and  often  in  company  with  Harriet 
Meadows  He  is  quite  a  dashing  young  fellow." 

"  He  is  dashing  far  beyond  his  ostensible 
means.  I  wonder  at  Millard  for  keeping  him  in 
his  store.  I  would  soon  cast  adrift  any  one  oi 


90  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

my  «lerks  who  kept  a  fast  horse,  and  sported 
about  with  the  gay  extravagance  that  Sanford 
does.  His  salary  does  not,  I  am  sure,  meet  half 
his  expenses.  I  have  heard  some  of  my  young 
men  speak  of  his  habits.  They  say  money  with 
him  is  no  consideration.  He  spends  it  as  freely 
as  water." 

"  Strange  that  his  employer  does  not  see  this !" 

"  It  is.  But  Millard  is  too  unsuspicious,  and 
too  ignorant  of  what  is  going  on  out  of  the  nar- 
row business  circle.  He  is  like  a  horse  in  a  mill. 
He  sees  nothing  outside  of  a  certain  limit.  He 
gets  up  in  the  morning,  dresses  himself,  goes  to 
his  store,  and  then  devotes  himself  to  business 
until  dinner  time.  Then  he  goes  home  and  dines. 
After  this  he  comes  back  to  his  store  and  stays 
until  nignt.  His  evenings  are  either  spent  in 
reading  or  dozing  at  home,  or  with  a  neighbor  at 
checkers.  On  Sunday  morning  he  goes  to  church, 
in  the  afternoon  he  sleeps  to  kill  time,  and  in  the 
evening  retires  at  eight,  unless  a  friend  steps  in, 
to  sleep  away  the  tedious  hours.  Of  the  habits 
of  his  clerks,  when  out  of  his  store,  he  knows  as 
little  as  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  But  some  one  ought  to  give  him  a  hint." 

"  It  would  be  a  charity." 


IT'S   NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  91 

"  "Why  do  n  t  you  do  it  ?" 

"  Me !  Oh,  it's  none  of  my  business.  Let 
Millard  look  after  his  own  affairs.  1  'ra  not  going 
to  get  myself  into  trouble  by  meddling  with 
things  that  do  n't  concern  me.  It  is  his  place  to 
see  into  the  habits  of  his  clerks.  If  he  neglects  to 
do  so,  he  deserves  to  be  cheated  by  them." 

"  I  do  n't  know.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  would 
be  no  more  than  right  to  give  him  a  hint,  and  put 
him  on  his  guard." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  turn,  no  doubt.  But 
I  'm  not  going  to  do  it  It 's  no  affair  of  mine." 

"  I  do  n't  think  he  is  fit  company  for  Harriet 
Meadows,"  said  Mrs.  Larkin,  after  a  pause. 

"  Nor  I,"  returned  her  husband.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  see  our  Jane  riding  with  him,  or  in- 
deed, associating  with  him  in  any  way.  Surely 
Harriet's  father  and  mother  cannot  know  that 
their  daughter  rides  out  with  him  almost  every 
Sunday  afternoon." 

"  Of  course  not.     They  are  religious  peopl 
and  would  think  it  a  sin  for  her  to  do  so.     I  am 
surprised  that  Harriet  should  act  m  such  direct 
violation  of  what  she  knows  to  be  their  real  senti- 
ments." 


92  HOME    JLIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Some  one  ought  to  give  them  a  hint  upon 
the  subject." 

"  I  think  so.  If  it  were  my  child  I  would  take 
it  as  a  great  favor  indeed. ' 

"  Yes,  so  would  I.  Suppose,  Ellen,  you  drop 
a  word  in  Mrs.  Meadows'  ear." 

"  Me  !"  with  a  look  and  tone  of  surprise.  "  Oh 
no,  I  never  interfere  in  other  people's  business. 
Every  one  ought  to  look  after  his  or  her  own 
concerns.  I  hate  your  meddlesome  folks.  I  '11 
take  good  care  that  my  own  child  do  n't  form 
such  associations.  Let  every  body  else  do  the 
same.  The  fact  is,  parents  are  too  careless  about 
where  their  children  go,  and  what  kind  of  coin 
pany  they  keep." 

"  That's  very  true.  Still  I  think  no  harm 
could  come  of  your  just  giving  Mrs.  Meadows  a 
hint." 

"  Oh,  no  indeed !    It's  none  of  my  business." 

""Well,  just  as  you  like,"  returned  Mr.  Larkin, 
indifferently.  "  Let  every  one  see  that  his  own 
stable  door  is  locked  before  the  horse  is  stolen." 

Mr.  Millard,  who  was  in  the  same  line  of  bu- 
siness with  Larkin,  was  just  the  plodding,  unob- 
serving,  unsuspicious  person  that  the  latter  had 
described  him.  Sanford  was  an  intelligent  clerk 


IT'S    NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  93 

and  an  active  salesman.  These  were  valuable 
qualities,  for  which  he  was  appreciated  by  his 
employer.  As  to  what  he  did  or  where  he  went 
after  business  hours,  Millard  never  thought.  He, 
doubtless,  on  the  supposition  of  the  merchant, 
went  into  good  company,  and  acted  with  the 
same  prudence  that  had  governed  himself  under 
similar  circumstances.  .But  in  this  he  was  mis- 
taken. The  young  man's  habits  were  bad,  and 
his  associates  often  of  a  vicious  character.  Bad 
habits  and  bad  associates  always  involve  the 
spending  of  money  freely.  This  consequence 
naturally  occurred  in  the  case  of  Sanford.  To 
supply  his  wants  his  salary  proved  insufficient. 
These  wants  were  like  the  horse-leech,  and  cried 
continually — "  give,  give."  They  could  not  be 
put  off.  The  first  recourse  was  that  of  borrowing, 
in  anticipation  of  his  quarterly  receipt  of  salary, 
after  his  last  payment  was  exhausted.  It  was 
not  long  before,  under  this  system,  his  entir 
quarterly  receipt  had  to  be  paid  away  to  balance 
his  borrowed  money  account,  thus  leaving  him 
nothing  to  meet  his  increasing  wants  for  the  next 
three  months.  By  borrowing  again  from  some 
friends  immediately,  and  curtailing  his  expenses 
down  to  the  range  of  his  income,  lie  was  able  to 


94  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

get  along  for  two  or  three  quarters.  But,  of 
course,  he  was  always  behind  hand  just  the 
amount  of  three  months'  salary.  At  length,  as 
ew  wants  pressed  upon  him,  he  was  tempted  to 
exceed  in  his  borrowed  money  account  the  sum 
received  as  his  quarterly  dues.  This  made  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  pay  off,  when  he  received  his 
instalments  of  salary,  the  whole  amount  of  bor- 
rowed money,  and  caused  him  to  cast  about  for 
some  new  resource.  In  ^balancing  the  cash  ac- 
count one  day, — he  had  charge  of  this, — he  found 
that  there  was  an  error  of  one  hundred  dollars  in 
favor  of  cash — that  is,  there  were  on  hand  one 
hundred  dollars  more  than  was  called  for  by  the 
account.  He  went  over  the  account  again  and 
again,  but  could  not  discover  the  error.  For 
more  than  an  hour  he  examined  the  various  entries 
and  additions,  but  with  no  better  success.  At  last, 
however,  a  little  to  his  disappointment,  for  he  had 
already  began  to  think  of  quietly  appropriating 
the  surplus,  he  found  the  error  to  consist  in  the 
carriage  of  tens — four  instead  of  five  having  been 
earned  to  the  third  or  column  of  hundreds  on  c  ne 
of  the  pages  of  the  cash  book,  thus  making  the 
amount  called  for  in  the  book  one  hundred  dol- 
lars less  than  the  real  sum  on  hand. 


IT'S  NONE  or  MY  BUSINESS.  95 

For  some  time  after  this  discovery,  Sanford 
eat  at  his  desk  in  a  state  of  abstraction  and  irres- 
olution. He  was  vexed  that  the  error  had  been 
ound  out,  for  he  had  already  nearly  made  up  his 
mind  to  keep  the  overplus  and  say  nothing  about 
it.  He  did  not  attempt  to  change  the  erroneous 
figure. — Why  should  it  not  remain  so? — he  at 
length  asked  himself.  If  it  had  cost  him  so  much 
time  and  labor  to  find  it  out,  it  was  not  probable 
that  any  one  else  would  detect  it.  Indeed,  no 
one  but  himself  and  Mr.  Millard  had  any  thing 
to  do  with  the  general  cash  account  of  the  estab- 
lishment, and  he  knew  very  well  that  the  latter 
did  not  examine  it  with  a  very  close  scrutiny. 
Finally,  pressing  demands  for  money  determined 
him  to  put  the  surplus  into  his  pocket,  at  least 
for  the  present.  He  did  so,  and  in  that  act  let 
into  his  mind  a  flood  of  evil  counsellors,  whose 
arguments,  enforced  by  his  own  cupidities,  could 
at  any  time  afterwards  have  sufficient  control  to 
guide  him  almost  at  will.  "With  this  sum  of  one 
hundred  dollars,  he  paid  off  a  portion  of  what  he 
owed,  and  retained  the  rest  to  meet  the  demands 
that  would  be  made  upon  him  before  the  arrival 
of  the  next  quarter  day.  It  was  a  rule  with  Mil- 
lard  to  pay  off  his  clerks  only  in  quarterly  instal- 
ments. No  other  payments  were  allowed  them. 


96  HOME   LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  deliberate  false  entry 
was  made,  by  which  another  hundred  dollars 
passed  into  Sanford's  pockets.  With  this  increase 
of  income  came  a  freer  expenditure.  Hitherto  he 
nad  been  in  the  habit  of  riding  out  on  Sundays 
on  hired  horses ;  but  now  he  was  inspired  with 
a  wish  to  own  a  horse  himself.  A  beautiful 
animal  just  at  this  time  came  under  his  eye.  It 
was  offered  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
The  owner,  knowing  Sanford's  fondness  foi  a  gay, 
fast-going  horse,  urged  him  to  buy. 

The  temptation  was  very  strong.  He  looked  at 
the  animal  again  and  again,  rode  him  out,  talked 
about  him,  until,  finally,  the  desire  to  own  him 
became  almost  irresistible.  He  had  not  twenty 
dollars,  however,  and  it  would  be  two  months 
before  his  salary  came  due,  which  at  any  rate  waa 
all  wanted  for  current  expenses.  The  cash  book 
was  looked  at  for  a  week  or  ten  days  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  to  pen  another  false  entry. 
At  last,  however,  he  picked  up  the  courage  to  do 
so.  The  horse  was  purchased,  and  for  a  few  days 
the  thought  of  possessing  so  noble  an  animal  waa 
very  pleasant. 

On  the  third  day  after  this  act  of  dishonesty 


IT'S    NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  97 

Mr.  Millard,  who  had  been  looking  over  the  cash 
book,  discovered  the  erroneous  figures. 

"  Look  here,  Sanford,"  said  he,  "you  have  made 
a  mistake  here.  This  figure  should  be  nine  instead 
of  eight,  and  this  five  instead  of  four." 

The  young  man's  heart  gave  a  quick  throb, 
but  he  controlled  himself  by  a  strong  effort. 

"  Where  ?"  he  asked,  quickly,  coming  at  once 
to  Mr.  Millard,  and  looking  over  the  cash-book. 

"  Here — jnst  add  up  these  two  columns." 

Sanford  added  them  up,  and  then  said — 

"  Yes,  that's  a  fact.  I  'm  glad  you  have  found 
it  out.  The  cash  has  been  over  about  two  hundred 
dollars  for  several  days,  and  I  have  tried  in  vain 
to  find  where  the  error  lay.  Strange,  after  adding 
up  these  columns  for  some  twenty  times  or  more, 
I  should  have  still  been  wrong  in  these  figures. 
Let  me  strike  a  balance  for  you  now,  so  that  you 
can  count  the  cash,  and  see  that  there  is  just  this 
amount  over. 

This  dispelled  all  suspicions  from  the  mind  of 
Millard,  if  any  had  found  a  place  there. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  hav  n't  time  now.  I  have 
no  doubt  of  it  being  right.  Make  the  corrections 
required." 

5 


98  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

.    And  as  he  thus   remarked,  he   turned   away 
from  the  desk. 

Sanford  trembled  from  head  to  foot  the  moin_ent 
his  employer  left  him.  He  tried  to  make  the 
•'  orrections,  but  his  hand  shook  so  that  he  could 
not  hold  the  pen.  In  a  little  while  he  mastered 
this  agitation  so  far  as  to  be  externally  composed. 
He  then  changed  the  erroneous  figures.  But 
this  did  not  make  the  matter  straight.  The  cash 
account  now  called  for  two  hundred  dollars  more 
than  the  funds  on  hand  would  show.  If  the 
money  should  be  counted  before  he  could  make 
other  false  entries,  he  would  be  discovered  and 
disgraced.  And  now  that  errors  had  been  dis- 
covered, it  was  but  natural  to  suppose  that  Mr. 
Millard  would  glance  less  casually  at  the  account 
than  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  At  last, 
he  determined  to  erase  a  few  pages  back  certain 
figures,  and  insert  others  in  their  places,  and 
carry  down  from  thence  the  error  by  a  regular 
series  of  erasures  and  new  entries.  This  he  did 
o  skilfully,  that  none  but  the  eye  of  suspicion 
could  have  detected  it.  It  was  some  weeks  before 
he  again  ventured  to  repeat  these  acts.  When 
he  did  so,  he  permitted  the  surplus  cash  to  remain 
in  the  drawer  for  eight  or  ten  days,  so  that  if  a 


IT'S    NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  99 

discovery  happened  to  be  made,  the  balance  on 
hand  would  show  that  it  was  an  error.  But  Mr. 
Millard  thought  no  more  about  the  matter,  and 
the  dishonest  clerk  was  permitted  to  prosecute 
his  base  conduct  undetected.  In  this  way  month 
after  month  passed,  unt:'.1  the  defalcation  rose  to 
over  a  thousand  dollars.  Nightly  Sanford  attend- 
ed places  of  public  amusement,  usually  accompani- 
ed by  a  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  some  respec- 
table citizen,  who  knew  as  little  of  the  habits  and 
character  of  the  young  man  as  did  his  employer 
himself.  Among  those  with  whom  he  had  become 
intimate  was  Harriet  Meadows,  the  daughter  of  a 
merchant  possessing  a  high  sense  of  honor  and 
considerable  wealth.  Mr.  Meadows,  so  soon  as 
the  young  man  began  to  visit  at  his  house,  gave 
him  to  understand  by  his  manner  that  he  was  not 
welcome.  This  was  so  plainly  done  that  there 
was  no  room  for  mistake  in  the  matter.  Piqued  at 

0 

this,  Sanford  determined  that  he  would  keep  the 
daughter's  company  in  spite  of  her  crusty  old 
father,  Harriet  was  gay  and  thoughtless,  and 
had  been  flattered  by  tha  attentions  of  Sanford. 
She  met  him  a  few  times  after  his  repulse,  at 
balls,  and  hesitated  not  to  dance  with  him. 
These  meetings  afforded  full  opportunity  for  the 


100  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

young  man  to  push  himself  still  farther  into  her 
good  opinion,  and  to  prevail  upon  her  at  length  to 
meet  him  clandestinely,  which  she  frequently  did 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  when,  as  has  already  been 
seen,  she  would  ride  out  in  his  company.  This 
kind  of  intimacy  soon  led  to  a  declaration  of  love 
on  the  part  of  Sanford,  which  was  fully  responded 
to  by  the  foolish  girl.  The  former  had  much,  he 
thought,  to  hope  for  in  in  a  union  with  Miss 
Meadows.  Her  father  was  well  off,  and  in  a  very 
excellent  business.  His  fortune  would  be  made 
if  he  could  rise  to  the  position  of  his  son-in-law. 
He  did  not  hope  to  do  this  by  a  fair  and  open 
offer  for  Harriet's  hand.  The  character  of 
Meadows,  which  was  decided,  precluded  all  hope 
of  gaining  his  consent  after  he  had  once  frowned 
upon  his  approaches.  The  only  road  to  success  was 
a  secret  marriage,  and  to  that  he  was  gradually  in- 
clining the  mind  of  the  daughter  at  the  time  our 
story  opened. 

It  is  not  always  that  a  villain  remains  such 
alone.  He  generally,  by  a  kind  of  intuition,  per- 
ceives who  are  like  him  in  interiors,  and  he  as- 
sociates with  these  on  the  principle  that  birds  of 
a  feather  flock  together.  He  was  particularly  in- 
timate with  one  of  Larkin's  clerks,  a  young  man 


IT'S    NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  101 

named  Hatfield,  who  had  no  higher  views  of  life 
than  himself,  and  who  was  governed  by  no  sound 
er  principles.  Hatfield  found  it  necessary  to  be 
more  guarded  than  Sanford,  from  the  fact  that  his 
employer  was  gifted  with  much  closer  observation 
than  was  Millard.  He,  too,  rode  a  fast  trotting 
horse  on  Sunday,  but  he  knew  pretty  well  the 
round  taken  by  Larkin  on  that  day,  and  the 
hours  when  he  attended  church,  and  was  very 
careful  never  to  meet  him.  At  some  place  of 
public  resort,  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  he  would 
join  Sanford,  and  together  they  would  spend  the 
afternoon. 

On  Jane  Larkin,  his  employer's  only  daughter, 
Hatfield  had  for  some  time  looked  with  a  favour- 
able eye.  But  he  felt  very  certain  that  neither 
her  father  nor  mother  would  favor  his  address- 
es. Occasionally,  with  her  parents'  knowledge, 
he  would  attend  her  to  places  of  public  amuse- 
ment. But  both  himself  and  the  young  lady  saw 
that  even  this  was  not  a  thing  that  fully  met 
their  approbation.  Hatfield  would,  on  such  oc- 
casions, ingeniously  allude  to  this  fact,  and  thus 
gather  from  Jane  how  she  regarded  their  coldness. 
It  was  not  agreeable  to  her,  he  quickly  perceived. 
This  encouraged  him  to  push  matters  further. 


102  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

Soon  the  two  understood  each  other  fully,  and 
soon  after  the  tacit  opposition  of  the  parents  to 
their  intimacy  was  a  matter  of  conversation  be 
tween  them,  whenever  they  could  get  an  oppor 
tunity  of  talking  together  without  awakening  sus- 
picion. 

Harriet  Meadows  and  Jane  Larkin  were  par- 
ticular friends,  and  soon  became  confidants. 
They  were  both  quite  young,  and,  we  need  not 
say,  weak  and  thoughtless.  Sanford  and  Hatfield, 
as  the  reader  has  seen,  were  also  intimate.  In  a 
short  time  after  the  latter  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  secure  the  hands  of  these  two  young 
ladies,  if  possible,  there  was  a  mutual  confession  of 
the  fact.  This  was  followed  by  the  putting  of  their 
heads  together  for  the  contrivance  of  such  plans 
as  would  best  lead  to  the  effectuation  of  the  end 
each  had  proposed  to  himself.  It  is  a  curious  fact, 
that  on  the  very  Sunday  afternoon  on  which  we 
have  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larkin  conversing  about 
the  danger  and  impropriety  of  Harriet  Meadows 
keeping  company  with  a  man  like  Sanford,  their 
own  daughter  was  actually  riding  out  with 
Hatfield.  In  this  ride  they  passed  the  r'esidtence 
of  Mr.  Meadows,  who,  in  turn,  commented  upon 
the  fact  with  some  severity  of  censure  towards 


IT'S   NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  103 

Mr.  Larkin  and  his  wife  for  not  looking  more 
carefully  after  their  only  child. 

"  They  certainly  cannot  know  it,"  finally  re- 
marked Mr.  Meadows. 

"  No,  I  should  think  not.  It  would  be  a  rea1 
charity  for  some  one  just  to  mention  it  to  them.'1 

"  It  certainly  would." 

"  Suppose  you  speak  to  Mr.  Larkin  about  it," 
said  Mrs.  Meadows. 

"  Me  ?  Oh  no  !"  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  none 
of  my  business.  I  never  meddle  with  family 
affairs.  It  is  their  duty  to  look  after  their  daugh- 
ter. If  they  do  n't,  and  she  rides  about  with 
Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  on  Sundays,  they  have 
no  one  to  blame  but  themselves  for  the  conse- 
quences." 

Thus  their  responsibility  in  the  affair  was  dis- 
'missed.  It  was  no  business  of  theirs. 

In  the  mean  time  the  two  clerks  were  laying 
their  plans  for  carrying  off  the  young  ladies,  and 
marrying  them  secretly. 

"  Have  you  sounded  Jane  on  this  subject  ?" 
asked  Sanford  of  his  friend  one  evening,  when 
the  matter  had  come  up  for  serious  discussion. 

"  I  have." 

i    * 

"  How  does  she  stand  ?" 


104  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  of  her.  But  how  is 
Harriet  ?" 

"  All  right.  That  point  we  settled  last  night. 
She  is  ready  to  go  at  any  time  that  Jane  is  will- 
ing to  take  a  similar  step.  She  would  rather  not 
go  all  alone." 

"  If  she  will  only  second  me  in  urging  the  ab- 
solute necessity  of  the  thing  upon  Jane,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  the  result.  And  she  will  do 
that  of  course." 

"  Oh  yes — all  her  influence  can  be  calculated 
upon.  But  how  do  you  think  Larkin  will  stand 
affected  after  all  is  over?" 

"  It 's  hard  to  tell.  At  first  he  will  be  as  mad 
as  a  March  hare.  But  Jane  is  his  only  child,  and 
he  loves  her  too  well  to  cast  her  off.  All  will 
settle  down  quietly  after  a  few  weeks'  ebullition 
and  I  shall  be  as  cosily  fixed  in  the  family  as  I 
could  wish.  After  that,  my  fortune  is  made. 
Larkin  is  worth,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  fifty 
or  sixty  thousand  dollars,  every  cent  of  which 
will  in  the  end  come  into  my  hands.  And,  be- 
sides, Larkin's  son-in-law  will  have  to  be  set  up 
in  business.  Give  me  a  fair  chance,  and  I  '11  turn 
a  bright  penny  for  myself." 


IT'S   NONE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  105 

"  How  are  you  off  for  funds  at  this  present 
time  ?" 

"  Low,  very  low.  The  old  fellow  do  n't  pay 
me  half  a  salary.  I  'm  in  debt  three  or  four  hun- 
dred dollars,  and  dunned  almost  to  death  when- 
ever I  am  in  the  way  of  duns.  All  the  people  I 
owe  know  better  than  to  send  their  bills  to  the 
store,  for  if  they  were  to  do  so,  and  by  thus  ex- 
posing me  cause  me  to  lose  rny  situation,  they  aro 
well  aware  that  they  might  have  to  whistle  for 
their  money." 

"Can't  you  make  a  raise  some  how?  "We 
must  both  have  money  to  carry  out  this  matter. 
In  the  first  place,  we  must  go  off  a  hundred  or 
two  miles  and  spend  a  week.  After  we  return 
we  may  have  to  board  for  weeks  at  pretty  high 
charges  before  a  reconciliation  [can  be  brought 
about.  During  this  time  you  will  be  out  of  a 
situation,  for  old  Larkin  won 't  take  you  back 
into  the  store  until  the  matter  is  made  up.  You 
ought  at  least  to  have  a  couple  of  hundred  dol 
lare."  * 

.     "  And  I  have  n't  twenty." 

"Bad,  very  bad.     But  don't  you  think  you 
could  borrow  a  couple  of  hundred  from  Larkin, 

5* 


106  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHALtOWS. 

and  pay  him  back  after  you  become  his  son-in 
law  ?" 

"  Borrow  from  Larkin !  Goodness  !  He  'd 
clear  me  out  in  less  than  no  time,  if  I  were  to  ask 
him  to  loan  me  even  fifty  dollars." 

"  No,  but  you  don't  understand  me,"  remarked 
Sanford  after  a  thoughtful  pause.  "  Can  't  you 
borrow  it  without  his  knowledge,  I  mean  ?  No 
harm  meant  of  course.  You  intend  borrowing 
his  daughter,  you  know,  for  a  little  while,  until 
he  consents  to  give  her  to  you." 

Hatfield  looked  into  the  face  of  his  tempter 
with  a  bewildered  air  for  some  moments.  He 
did  not  yet  fully  comprehend  his  drift. 

"  How  am  I  to  borrow  without  his  knowing  it  ? 
Figure  me  that  out  if  you  please,"  he  said. 

"  "Who  keeps  the  cash  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Ah !  so  far  so  good.  You  keep  the  cash. 
Very  well.  Now  is  n't  it  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  for  you  to  possess  yourself  of  a  couple 
of  hundred  dollars  in  such  a  way  that  the  deficit 
need  not  appear  ?  If  you  can,  it  will  be  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world,  after  you  come  back, 
*  and  get  the  handling  of  a  little  more  money  in 


IT'S  NOiNE    OF    MY    BUSINESS.  107 

your  right  than  has  heretofore  been  the  case,  tc 
return  the  little  loan." 

"  But  suppose  it  possible  for  me  thus  to  get 
possession  of  two  hundred  dollars,  and  suppos 
I  do  not  get  back  safely  after  our  adventure,  and 
do  not  have  the  handling  of  more  money  in  my 
own  right — what  then  ?" 

"  You'll  only  be  supporting  his  daughter  out 
of  his  own  money — that  is  all." 

"  Humph  !     Quite  a  casuist." 

"  But  is  n't  there  reason  in  it  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know.  I  am  not  exactly  in  a  state  to 
see  reasons  clearly  just  now." 

"  You  can  see  the  necessity  of  having  a  coupla 
of  hundred  dollars,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh  yes — as  clear  as  mud." 

"  You  must  have  that  sum^at  least,  or  to  pro- 
ceed will  be  the  height  of  folly." 

"  I  can  see  that  too." 

"  It  is  owing  to  Larkin's  mean  pride  that  you 
are  driven  to  this  extremity.  He  ought  to  pay 
for  it." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  hold  of  two  hundred 
dollars  ?  That's  the  question." 

"  Is  there  ordinarily  much  cash  on  hand  ?" 

"  Yes.     We  deposit  some  days  as  high  as  ten 


108  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

thousand  dollars;  particularly  at  this  season, 
when  a  good  many  merchants  are  in." 

"The  chance  is  fair  enough.  Two  hundred 
won't  be  missed." 

"  No,  not  until  the  cash  is  settled,  and  then  it 
will  come  to  light." 

"  That  does  n't  follow." 

"  I  think  it  does." 

"  You  may  prevent  it." 

"  How  ?" 

"  Miss  a  couple  of  tens  in  your  additions  on 
the  debit  side  of  the  cash  book.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?" 

"  Not  clearly." 

"  You  are  dull.  Change  a  figure  in  footing  up 
your  cash  book,  so  that  it  will  balance,  notwith- 
standing a  deficit  of  two  hundred  dollars.  After 
you  come  back,  this  can  be  set  right  again.  No 
one  will  think  of  adding  up  the  back  columns  to 
see  if  there  is  any  fraud." 

"  After  Sanford  ceased  speaking,  his  friend 
cast  his  eyes  to  the  floor,  and  reflected  for  some 
time.  There  was  in  his  mind  a  powerful  struggle 
between  right  and  wrong.  When  the  plan  was 
first  presented,  he  felt  an  inward  shrinking  from 
it.  It  involved  an  act  of  fraud,  that,  if  found  out, 


IT'S  NONE  OF  MY  BUSINESS.  109 

would  blast  his  character.  But  the  longer  he  re- 
flected, and  the  more  fully  he  looked  in  the  face 
of  the  fact  that  without  money  he  could  not  pro- 
ceed to  the  consummation  of  his  wishes,  the  more 
favorable  the  plan  seemed. 

"  But,"  he  said,  lifting  his  eyes  and  drawing  a 
long  breath,  "  if  it  should  be  found  out  ?" 

"  Larkin  will  not  expose  his  son-in-law  for  his 
daughter's  sake." 

"  True — there  is  something  there  to  hope  for. 
Well,  I  will  think  of  it.  I  must  have  two  hundred 
dollars  from  some  source." 

And  he  did  think  of  it  to  evil  purpose.  He 
found  no  very  great  difficulty  in  getting  Jane  to 
consent  to  run  away  with  him,  especially  as  her 
particular  friend,  Harriet  Meadows,  was  to  ac- 
company her  on  a  like  mad-cap  expedition  with 
Sanford. 

Nothing  occurred  to  prevent  the  acts  proposed 
By  false  entries,  Hatfield  was  enabled  to  abstrac 
two  hundred  dollars  in  a  way  that  promised 
perfect  concealment  of  the  fraud,   although  in 
doing  it  he  felt  much  reluctance  and  many  com- 
punctions of  conscience. 

About  ten  days  after  the  conversation  between 
the  young  men,  just  giren,  Jane  Larkin  obtained 


110  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

her  mother's  consent  to  spend  a  few  days  with  a 
cousin  who  resided  some  miles  from  the  city  on 
a  road  alcng  which  one  of  the  omnibus  lines  pass- 
ed. Harriet  Meadows  did  not  uae  this  precaution 
o  elude  suspicion.  She  left  her  father's  house  at 
the  time  agreed  upon,  and  joined  young  Sanford 
at  an  appointed  place,  where  a  carriage  was  wait- 
ing, into  which  Hatfield  and  Jane  had  already 
entered.  The  two  couples  then  proceeded  to  the 
house  of  an  alderman,  who  united  them  in  mar- 
riage bonds.  From  thence  they  drove  to  a  rail- 
road depot,  took  passage  for  a  neighboring  city, 
and  were  soon  gliding  away,  a  suspicion  una- 
wakened  in  the  minds  of  the  young  ladies'  friends. 
The  absence  of  Harriet  on  the  night  following 
alarmed  the  fears  and  awakened  the  suspicions 
of  her  father  and  mother.  Early  on  the  next 
day,  Mr.  Meadows  learned  that  his  daughter  had 

been  seen  entering  the  cars  in  company 

with  young  Sanford.  Calling  upon  Millard,  he 
ascertained  that  Sanford  had  not  been  to  the  store 
on  the  previous  day,  and  was  still  absent.  To 
merge  suspicion  and  doubt  into  certainty,  the 
alderman  who  had  married  the  couples  was  met 
accidentally.  He  testified  to  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing united  them.  Sick  at  heart,  Mr.  Meadows 


IT'S    NONE   OF    MY    BUSINESS.  1  1 1 

returned  home  to  communicate  the  sad  intelligence 
to  the  mother  of  Harriet.  When  he  again  went 
out,  he  was  met  by  the  startling  rumor  that  a 
defalcation  had  been  discovered  on  the  part  of 
young  Sanford  to  a  large  amount.  Hurrying  to 
the  store  of  Mr.  Millard,  he  was  shocked  to  find 
that  the  rumor  was  but,  alas  !  too  true.  Already 
false  entries  in  the  cash  book  had  been  discovered 
to  the  amount  of  at  least  five  thousand  dollars. 
An  officer,  he  also  learned,  had  been  despatched 
to ,  for  the  purpose  of  arresting  the  dis- 
honest clerk  and  bringing  him  back  to  justice. 

"  Quite  an  affair  this,"  remarked  Larkin  to  an 
acquaintance  whom  he  met  some  time  during  the 
day,  in  a  half-serious,  half-indifferent  tone. 

"  About  Meadows'  daughter  and  Sanford  ? 
Yes,  and  rather  a  melancholy  affair.  The  worst 
part  of  it  is,  that  the  foolish  young  man  has  been 
embezzling  the  money  of  his  employer." 

"  Yes,  that  is  very  bad.     But  Millard  might 
have   known  that  Sanford  could  not  dash  about1 
nd  spend  money  as  he  did  upon  his  salary  alone." 

"  I  do  n't  suppose  he  knew  any  thing  about  hia 
habits.  He  is  an  unsuspicious  man,  and  keepa 
himself  quietly  at  home  when  not  in  his  store."  . 

"Well,  I  did  then.     I  saw  exactly  how  he  was 


112  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

going  on,  and  could  have  told  him;  but  it  wasn't 
any  of  my  business." 

"  I  do  n't  care  so  much  for  Millard  or  his  clerk 
as  I  do  for  the  foolish  girl  and  her  parents.  Her 
happiness  is  gone  and  theirs  with  it." 

"  Ah,  yes — that  is  the  worst  part.  But  they 
might  have  known  that  something  of  the  kind 
would  take  place.  They  were  together  a  good 
deal,  and  were  frequently  to  be  seen  riding  out  on 
Sunday  afternoons." 

"  This  was  not  with  the  knowledge  of  her  pa- 
rents, I  am  sure." 

"  I  do  n't  suppose  it  was.  Still  they  should 
have  looked  more  carefully  after  their  child.  I 
knew  it  and  could  have  told  them  how  things 
were  going — but  it  was  n't  any  of  my  business.  I 
always  keep  myself  clear  from  these  matters." 

Just  at  this  moment  a  third  person  came  up. 
He  looked  serious. 

"  Mr  Larkin,"  he  said,  "  I  have  just  heard  that 
your  daughter  and  Hatfield,  your  clerk,  were  mar- 
ried at  the  same  time  that  Sanford  was,  and  went 
off  with  that  young  man  and  his  bride.  Alderman 
,  it  is  said,  united  them." 

Larkin  turned  instantly  pale.  Hatfield  had  been 
away  since  the  morning  of  the  day  before,  and  his 


IT'S   NONE    OP    MY    BUSINESS.  113 

daughter  was  not  at  home,  having  asked  the  priv- 
ilege of  going  to  see  a  cousin  who  resided  a  few 
miles  from  the  city.  A  call  upon  Alderman 

confirmed  the  afflicting  intelligence.  The 

father  returned  home  to  communicate  the  news 
to  his  wife,  on  whom  it  fell  with  such  a  shock  that 
she  became  quite  ill. 

"  He  might  have  known  that  something  of  this 
kind  would  have  happened,"  remarked  the  per- 
son who  had  communicated  the  intelligence,  as 
soon  as  Larkin  had  left.  "  No  man  who  does  n't 
wish  his  daughters  to  marry  his  clerks,  ought  to 
let  them  go  to  balls  and  concerts  together,  and  ride 
out  when  they  please  on  Sunday  afternoons." 

"  Did  Larkin  permit  this  with  Jane  and  Hat- 
field?" 

"  They  were  often  thus  together  whether  he  per 
mitted  it  or  not." 

"  He  could  n't  have  known  it." 

"  Perhaps  not.  I  could  have  given  him  a  hint 
on  the  subject,  if  I  had  chosen — but  it  was  none 
of  my  business." 

On  the  next  day  all  the  parties  came  home — 
Sanfprd  compulsorily,  in  the  hands  of  an  officer ; 
Hatfield  voluntarily,  and  in  terrible  alarm.  The 
two  brides  were  of  course  included.  Sanford  soon 


1  1 4  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

after  left  the  city,  and  has  not  since  been  heard  of. 
His  crime  was  "  breach  of  trust  1"  As  for  Hat- 
eld,  he  was  received  on  the  principle  that,  in  such 
natters,  the  least  said  the  soonest  mended.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  months  he  was  able  to  restore  the 
two  hundred  dollars  he  had  abstracted.  After 
this  was  done  he  felt  easier  in  mind.  He  did  not, 
however,  make  the  foolish  creature  he  had  marri- 
ed h^ppy.  Externally,  or  to  the  world,  they  seem 
united,  but  internally  they  are  not  conjoined. 
Too  plainly  is  this  apparent  to  the  father  and  mo- 
ther, who  have  many  a  heart-ache  for  their  dearly 
loved  chUd. 


THE  MOTHEK'S 


A  LADY,  handsomely  dressed,  was  about  leav« 
ing  her  house  to  make  a  few  calls,  when  a  little 
boy  ran  out  from  the  nursery,  and  clasping  one  of 
her  gloved  hands  in  both  of  hia,  looked  up  into 
her  face  with  a  glance  of  winning  entreaty,  saying, 
as  he  did  so : 

"  Mamma  !  dear  mamma !  "Won't  you  buy  me 
a  picture-book,  just  like  cousin  Edie's  ?" 

"  Yes,  love,"  was  the. unhesitating  reply;  and 
the  lady  stooped  to  kiss  the  sweet  lips  of  her  child. 

"  Eddy  must  be  a  good  boy,  and  mind  nurse 
while  mamma  is  away,"  she  added. 

"  I'll  be  so  good,"  replied  Eddy,  with  all  the 
earnestness  of  a  childish  purpose.  "You  may  ask 


1  1 6  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

nurse  when  you  come  home,  if  I  have  not  been  the 
goodest  little  boy  that  ever  was." 

Mrs.  Herbert  kissed  h  er  darling  boy  again,  and 
then  went  forth  to  make  her  morning  round  of 
calls.  Eddy  returned  to  the  nursery,  strong  in 
his  purpose,  to  be  a  good  boy,  as  he  had  pro- 
mised. 

"  Such  a  dear  little  picture-book  as  mamma  is  go- 
ing to  bring  me  home,"  he  said  to  nurse,  as  he 
leaned  his  arms  against  her,  and  looked  up  into 
her  face.  "  Oh  1  won't  I  be  so  glad.  It's  to  be 
just  like  cousin  Edie's.  Mamma  said  so;  and 
cousin  Edie's  book  is  so  beautiful.  I  've  wanted 
one  ever  since  I  was  there.  Is'nt  mamma  good  ?" 

"  Yes,  Eddy,"  replied  the  nurse,  "your  mamma 
is  very  good ;  and  you  should  love  her  so  much, 
and  do  everything  she  tells  you  to  do." 

"  I  do  love  her,"  said  the  child.  "  Oh,  I  love 
her  more  than  all  the  world ;  and  I'm  going  to 
mind  every  thing  she  says." 

Then  the  child  went  to  his  play,  and  was  happy 
with  his  toys.  But  his  thoughts  were  on  the  pic- 
ture-book", and  pleasantly  his  young  imagination 
lingered  amid  its  attractive  pages. 

"  Is'nt  it  'most  time  for  mother  to  be  home  ?"  he 


THE  MOTHER'S  PROMISE.  117 

asked,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  coming  to  the 
side  of  his  nurse,  and  gazing  up  into  her  face. 

"  "Why  no,  child,"  replied  the  nurse,  "not  for  a 
long  while  yet." 

Eddy  looked  disappointed.  But  that  instant 
the  door  bell  rung. 

"  There's  mamma !"  exclaimed  the  child,  clap- 
ping his  hands  ;  and  before  nurse  could  restrain 
him,  he  had  bounded  from  the  room,  and  his  little 
feet  were  heard  pattering  down  the  stairs.  Slow 
ly  he  came  back,  after  a  little  while,  and  with  a 
look  of  disappointment  on  his  sweet  young  face, 
entered  the  nursery,  saying,  as  he  did  so : 

"  It  was  only  a  man  with  brooms  to  sell." 

"  Your  mamma  won't  be  home  for  a  long  time 
yet,  Eddy,"  said  hie  nurse,  "  so  it  is  of  no  use  for 
you  to  expect  her.  Go  and  build  block  houses 
again." 

"  I'm  tired  of  block  houses,"  replied  the  little 
boy,  "and  now  that  mamma  has  promised  me  a 
picture-book  like  cousin  Edie's  I  can't  think  of 
anything  else." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  nurse,  a  little  impatiently, 
"  she'll  be  home  in  good  time.  Try  and  not  think 
of  the  book.  It  won't  do  any  good — it  won't 
bring  her  home  a  minute  sooner." 


118  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"I  can  t  help  thinking  of  it,"  persisted  the  child 
in  whom  the  imaginative  faculty  was  unusually 
strong  for  one  of  his  age* 

In  a  little  while,  however,  something  occurred 
to  interest  him,  and  a  full  hour  elapsed  before  h 
again  recurred  to  his  mother  and  the  expected 
picture  book.  As  best  she  could,  his  nurse 
diverted  his  mind,  and  kept  him,  in  a  measure, 
occupied  with  what  was  around  him.  At  length 
it  was  full  time  for  Mrs.  Herbert  to  return.  Eddy 
had  ceased  to  find  interest  in  anything  appertain- 
ing to  the  nursery.  He  went  down  into  the  par- 
lor, and  seating  himself  at  the  window,  watched, 
with  childish  eagerness,  for  the  form  of  his 
mother. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  reader,  Mrs. 
Herbert  had  scarcely  passed  into  the  street,  ere 
her  promise  was  forgotten.  Not  that  she  was 
indifferent  to  the  happiness  of  her  child — not  that 
she  was  a  heartless  mother.  Far  very  far  from 
this.  Purely  and  truly  did  she  love  this  sweet 
boy.  •  But,  so  much  were  her  thoughts  interest- 
ed in  other-  things,  that  she  did  not,  at  the  time, 
comprehend  the  earnestness  of  his  childish  wishes; 
nor  think  of  her  promise  as  a  sacred  thing.  The 
request  for  a  picture  book  seemed  to  her  but  the 


THE  MOTHER'S  PROMISE.  ,  1 19 

expression  of  a  sudden  thought,  that  passed  from 
his  mind  as  soon  as  uttered.  And  yet,  she  had 
not  promised  without  intending  to  meet  the  wishes 
of  her  child,  for  she  was  an  indulgent  mother 
and  rarely  said  "  No,"  to  any  request  that  migh 
reasonably  be  gratified.  She  had  noticed  Cousin 
Edie's  pretty  book,  and  thought  that  she  would, 
Borne  time  or  other,  get  one  like  it  for  Eddy. 
The  child's  request  but  seconded  this  thought. 
There  was  will,  therefore,  in  her  promise.  She 
meant  to  do  as  she  had  said. 

But  things  of  more  interest  to  Mrs.  Herbert, 
than  the  simple  wish  of  a  child,  so  fully  occupied 
her  mind  from  the  time  she  left  her  own  door, 
that  she  never  again  thought  of  the  book,  until 
she  saw  Eddy's  dear  face  at  the  window.  It  was 
serious,  and  slightly  impatient,  as  if  he  were  wea- 
ried with  watching  and  waiting ;  but  the  moment 
his  eyes  rested  upon  her  form,  his  whole  counte- 
nance brightened,  as  though  lit  up  by  a  sunbeam. 
Almost  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Herbert's  hand  touched 
the  bell,  the  street  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
the  glad  child  stood,  like  a  rebuking  spirit,  before 
her. 

''  Where's  my  book,  mamma?  Give  me  my 
book,  mamma !  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  1" 


120  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Now,  the  first  conviction  of  wrong,  often  haa 
an  irritating  effect  upon  the  mind,  obscuring  its 
perceptions,  and  leading,  sometimes,  to  the  im- 
pulsive commission  of  greater  wrongs.  It  was  so 
n  the  present  case.  The  happy  countenance  of 
her  child  did  not  bring  joy  to  the  mother's  heart ; 
for  she  knew  that  with  a  word,  she  must  dash 
to  the  ground  all  his  buoyant  anticipations.  And 
she  remembered,  too,  at  the  moment,  how  poorly 
he  could  bear  disappointment. 

"  Eddy,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  taking  her 
little  boy  by  the  hand,  and  advancing  toward  the 
parlor  door  with  him,  "  Eddy,  dear,  let  me  tell 
you  something." 

Her  grave  tone  and  look  caused  a  shiver  to 
pass  inward  toward  the  heart  of  the  child.  He 
understood,  but  too  well,  that  the  mother,  whose 
word  he  had  trusted  so  implicitly,  had  been  faith- 
less to  her  promise. 

Poor  child !  even  this  advancing  shadow  of  a 
coming  disappointment,  darkened  his  young  face 
and  filled  his  eyes  with  tears.  * 

Mrs.  Herbert  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair,  as 
she  entered  the  parlor,  and  drew  Eddy  to  her 
side.  She  saw,  from  his  sad  face,  that  words 
were  not  reauired  to  make  him  aware  that  the 


THE  MOTHER'S  PROMISE.  121 

promised  book  was  not  in  her  possession ;  and 
she  knew,  from  former  experience,  that  trouble 
was  before  her.  Unhappily,  she  did  not  feel 
softened,  but  rather  irritated,  toward  the  child. 

"  Eddy,"  she  said  firmly,  yet  with  as  muck 
tenderness  as  she  could  assume,  "  E<ldy,  yoc 
Know  you  promised  me  to  be  such  a  good  boy." 

"  And  I  have  been  good,"  eagerly  answered 
the  little  fellow,  lifting  his  swimming  eyes  to  her 
face,  "  you  may  ask  nurse  if  I  havn't  been  good 
all  the  time." 

"  I'm  sure  you  have,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert, 
touched  by  the  manner  of  her  child ;  "  and  yet, 
Eddy,  I  have  not  brought  your  book." 

The  tears,  which  had  been  ready  to  start,  now 
gushed  over  his  face,  and  a  low  cry  pained  the 
mother's  ears. 

"  Eddy,"  said  she,  seriously,  "  let  me  tell  you 
about  it.  You  must  listen  to  reason." 

Reason  1  poor,  disappointed  little  one !  He 
had  no  ear  for  the  comprehension  of  reasons. 

"  Now,  Eddy  1 1  can't  have  this  1"  Mrs.  Her- 
bert spoke  firmly,  for  already  the  child  was  weep- 
ing bitterly.  "  Crying  will  do  no  good.  I  promis- 
ed you  the  book,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I  had  no 

6  "• 


122  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

opportunity  to  get  it  this  morning.  Come  now ! 
you  must  stop  at  once,  or  I " 

Mrs.  Herbert  did  not  utter  the  threat  which 
came  to  her  lips ;  for  her  mind  shrunk  from  the 
thought  of  punishing  her  child,  especially  as  his 
fault  was  a  consequence  of  her  own  actions.  But, 
as  he  continued  to  cry  on,  and  in  a  louder  voice, 
she  not  only  began  to  feel  excessively  annoyed, 
but  deemed  it  her  duty  to  compel  a  cessation  of 
•what  could  do  no  possible  good,  but  rather  harm. 

"  Eddy,  you  must  stop  this  crying  1"  Firmness 
had  changed  to  sternness. 

The  words  might  as  well  not  have  been  spoken. 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  to  stop !"  The  tones 
were  angry  now ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Herbert  uttered 
them,  she  caught  the  arm  of  her  child  with  a  tight 
grip. 

At  this  moment,  the  sound  of  the  latch-key  was 
heard  in  the  street  door.  It  was  dinner  time,  and 
Mr.  Herbert  entered. 

"  Bless  us!  what's  the  trouble  here  ?"  the  father 
of  Eddy  exclaimed,  good-naturedly,  as  he  presen- 
ted himself  in  the  parlor. 

"  The  trouble  is,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  in  a  fret- 
ful voice,  "  that  I  promised  to  buy  him  a  book, 
and  forgot  all  about  it." 


THE  MOTHER'S  PROMISE.  123 

«'  Oho  1  Is  that  all  ?"  Mr.  Herbert  spoke  cheer 
fully.  "  This  trouble  can  soon  be  healed.  Come 
dear,  and  let  us  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

And  Mr.  Herbert  drew  forth  a  small,  square 
packet,  and  began  untying  the  string,  with  which 
it  was  bound.  Eddy  ceased  crying  in  an  instant, 
while  a  rainbow  light  shone  through  his  tears. 
Soon  a  book  came  to  view.  It  was  the  book. 
Singularly  enough,  Mr.  Herbert  had,  that  morn- 
ing, observed  it  in  a  store,  and  thinking  it  would 
please  his  child,  had  bought  it  for  him. 

"  Will  that  do  ?"  he  said,  handing  the  book  to 
Eddy. 

What  a  gush  of  gladness  came  to  the  child's 
face.  A  moment  or  two  he  stood,  like  one  be- 
wildered, and  then  throwing  his  arms  around  his 
father's  neck  and  hugging  him  tightly,  he  said,  in 
the  fullness  of  his  heart, 

"  Oh  J  you  are  a  dear  good  papa  !  I  do  love 
you  so  much !" 

Ere  the  arms  of  Eddy  were  unclasped  from 
his  father's  neck,  Mrs.  Herbert  had  left  the  room. 
When,  on  the  ringing  of  the  dinner  bell,  she  join- 
ed her  husband  and  child  at  the  table,  her  coun- 
tenance wore  a  sober  aspect,  and .  there  were 
aigns  of  tears  about  her  eyes!  What  her  thoughts 


124  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

had  been,  every  true  mother  can  better  imaging 
than  we  describe.  That  they  were  salutary,  may 
be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  no  promise,  not 
even  the  lightest,  was  ever  afterwards  made  to 
her  child,  which  was  not  righteously  kept  to  the 
very  letter. 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 


"  Jane,  how  can  you  tolerate  that  dull,  spirit* 
less  creature  ?  I  never  sat  by  his  side  for  five  min- 
utes, without  getting  sleepy." 

"  He  does  not  seem  so  very  dull  to  me,  Cara," 
replied  her  companion. 

"  It  is  a  true  saying,  that  there  never  was  a 
Jack  without  a  Jill ;  but  I  could  not  have  believed 
Jiat  my  friend  Jane  Emory  would  have  been  wil- 
ling to  be  the  Jill  to  such  a  Jack." 

A  slight  change  was  perceptible  in  the  counte- 
nance of  Jane  Emory,  and  for  a  moment  the  co- 
lor deepened  on  her  cheek.  But  when  she  spoke 
in  reply  to  her  friend's  remark,  no  indication  that 
she  felt  its  cutting  import,  was  perceptible. 


HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  127" 

"  I  am  convinced,  from  close  observation  of 
Walter  Gray,"  said  Jane,  "  that  he  has  in  hia 
character  that  which  should  ever  protect  him 
rom  jest  or  ridicule." 

"  And  what  is  that,  my  lady  Jane  ?" 

"  Right  thoughts  and  sound  principles." 

"  Fiddle  stick !" 

These  should  not  only  be  respected,  but  hon- 
ored wherever  found,"  said  Jane,  gravely. 

"  In  a  bear  or  a  boor  1"  Cara  responded,  in  a 
tone  of  irony. 

"  My  friend  Cara  is  ungenerous  in  her  allusions. 
Surely,  she  will  not  assert  that  Walter  Gray  is  a 
bear  or  a  boor  ?" 

"  He  is  boorish  enough,  at  any  rate." 

"  There  I  differ  with  you,  Cara.  His  manner 
is  not  so  showy,  nor  his  attentions  to  the  many 
little  forms  and  observances  of  social  life,  so 
prompt  as  to  please  the  fastidious  in  these  mat 
ters.  These  defects,  however,  are  not  defects  of 
character,  but  of  education.  He  has  not  mingled 
enough  in  society  to  give  him  confidence. 

"  They  are  defects,  and  are  serious  enough  to 
make  him  quite  offensive  to  me.  Last  evening,  at 
Mrs.  Clinton,s  party,  I  sat  beside  him  for  half  an 


128  THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 

hour,  and  was  really  disgusted  with  his  marked 
disregard  of  the  little  courtesies  of  social  life." 

"  Indeed !"  replied  Jane,  her  manner  becoming 
more  serious,  "  and  in  what  did  these  omissions 
consist  ?" 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  while  we  were  con- 
v  ersing, " 

"  He  could  converse,  then  ?"  said  Jane,  inter 
rupting  her  friend. 

"  0,  no,  I  beg  pardon  !  While  we  were  trying 
to  converse — for  among  his  other  defects  is  an 
inability  to  talk  to  a  lady  on  any  subject  of  inter- 
est— I  dropped  my  handkerchief,  on  purpose,  of 
course,  but  he  never  offered  to  lift  it  for  me ;  in- 
deed, I  doubt  whether  he  saw  it  at  all." 

"  Then,  Cara,  how  could  you  expect  him  to 
pick  it  up  for  you,  if  he  did  not  see  it  ?" 

"  But  he  ought  to  have  seen  it.  He  should 
have  bad  his  eyes  about  him  ;  and  so  should  every 
gentleman  who  sits  by  or  is  near  a  lady.  I  kno\\ 
one  that  never  fails." 

c<  And  pray,  who  is  the  perfect  gentleman  ?" 
asked  Jane  smiling.     "  Is  he  one  of  my  acquain 
tances  ?" 

"  Certainly  he  is.     I  mean  Charles  Wilton." 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  129 

"  He  is,  I  must  confess,  different  from  Walter 
Gray,"  Jane  remarked,  drily. 

"  I  hope  fee  is  !"  said  Cara,  tossing*her  head,  for 
she  felt  that  something  by  no  means  complimen- 
tary was  implied  in  the  equivocal  remark  of  her 
friend. 

"  But,  seriously,  Cara,  I  must,  in  turn,  express 
regret  that  you  allow  yourself  to  feel  interested 
in  one  like  Charles  Wilton.  Trust  me,  my  friend, 
he  is  unworthy  of  your  regard." 

"  And  pray,  Miss,"  said  Cara,  warming  sud- 
denly, "  what  do  you  know  of  Charles  Wilton, 
that  will  warrant  your  throwing  out  such  insinu- 
ations against  him  ?" 

"  Little  beyond  what  I  have  learned  by  my  own 
observation."  . 

"And  what  has  that  taught  you?  I  should 
like  very  much  to  know." 

"  It  has  taught  me,  Cara,"  replied  Jane,  serious- 
ly, "  to  estimate  him  very  lightly  indeed.  From 
what  I  have  seen,  I  am  convinced  that  ha 
possesses  neither  fixed  principles  nor  any  decision 
of  character.  In  the  world,  without  these  a 
man  is  like  a  ship  upon  the  ocean,  having  neither 
helm  nor  compass^ 
6* 


130 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 


"  You  make  broad  and  bold  charges,  Jane 
But  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  may  be.  But  so  certain  am  !•  that  I  am 
right,  that  I  would  rather  die  this  hour  than  be 
compelled  to  link  my  lot  in  life  with  his.  Certain 
I  am  that  I  should  make  shipwreck  of  hope  and 
affection." 

"  You  deal  in  riddles,  Jane.  Speak  out  more 
plainly." 

"  Surely,  Cara,  long  before  this  you  have  or 
ought  to  have  discovered,  that  Charles  Wilton 
exhibits  far  too  much  love  of  appearance  for  a 
sensible  man.  He  dresses  in  the  very  best  style 
and  may  be  able  to  afford  it ;  but  that  is  not  all ; 
— he  evidently  esteems  these  external  embellish- 
ments of  superior  importance  to  mental  or  moral 
endowments.  He  rarely  fails  to  remark  upon  men 
not  so  well  dressed  as  himself,  and  to  refer  to  the 
defect  as  one  sufficient  to  make  the  individual 
contemptible,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  circum- 
stances or  merit  of  the  person  referred  to.  I 
have  more  than  once  noticed  that  Charles  Wilton 
passes  over  every  thing  in  his  disgust  for  defect 
in  dress." 

"  1  do  not  see  a  matter  of  terious  importance 
in  that,"  said  Cara.  "  His  love  of  dress  is  a  mere 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  131 

foible,  that  may  be  excused.     It  certainly  has  no- 
thing to  do  with  his  real  character.'* 

"  It  is  an  indication  of  the  man's  true  charac- 
ter," her  friend  replied.  "  I  am  sure  that  I  want 
no  plainer  exhibition.  If  he  was  simply  fond  of 
dress,  and  indulged  in  that  fondness  even*  to  the 
extent  he  now  does  it  might  indicata  a  mere 
weakness  of  character,  in  the  form  of  an  undue 
love  of  admiration.  But  when,  to  this,  we  see  a 
disposition  to  value  others,  and  to  judge  of  them 
by  their  garments,  then  we  may  be  sure  that 
there  is  a  serious  defect  of  character.  The  man, 
Cara,  believe  me,  who  has  no  higher  standard  of  , 
estimation  for  other  men,  than  the  form,  manner, 
and  texture  of  their  garments,  has  not  the  ca- 
pacity rjghtly  to  value  a  woman  or  to  know 
wherein  her  true  merit  lies.  This  is  one  of  the 
reasons  why  I  said  that  I  would  rather  die  than 
link  my  lot  in  life  with  that  young  man." 

"  Well,  as  for  me,  Jane,  I  am  sure  that  I  would 
rafter  have  a  man  with  some  spirit  in  him,  than 
to  be  tied  to  such  a  drone  as  Walter  Gray. 
Why,  I  should  die  in  a  week.  I  can't  for  my 
life,  see  how  you  can  enjoy  his  society  for  a  mo- 
ment 1" 

"  I  should  think  any  woman  ought  to  be  abl<» 


132  THE    TWO   HUSBANDS. 

to  enjoy  the  company  of  a  nian  of  sense,"  Jana 
remarked,  quietly. 

"Surely,  Jane,  you  don't  pretend  by  that  to 
set  up  Walter  Gray  as  the  superior  of  Charlea 
Wilton  in  regard  to  intelligence  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,  Cara." 

"  Why,  Jane  1  There  is  no  comparison,  in  this 
respect,  between  them.  Every  one  knows  that 
•while  Walter  is  dull,  even  to  stupidity,  Charles 
has  a  brilliant,  well  informed  mind.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  hear  each  converse  for  an  hour,  to  de- 
cide upon  their  respective  merits." 

"  In  that  last  sentence  you  have  uttered  the 
truth,  Cara,  but  the  result  would  depend  much 
upon  the'  character  of  the  listeners.  For  a  time, 
no  doubt,  if  Charlae  made  an  effort  to  show  off,  he 
would  eclipse  the  less  brilliant  and  unobtrusive 
"Walter.  But  a  close  and  discriminating  observ- 
er would  soon  learn  to  judge  between  sound  and 
sense,  between  borrowed  thoughts  and  truthful 
sentiments  originating  in  a  philosophical  and  ever 
active  mind.  The  shallow  stream  runs  sparkling 
and  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  while  the  deeper  wa- 
ters lie  dark  and  unattractive." 

Cara  shook  her  head  as  her  friend  ceased  speak 
ing,  and  replied,  laughingly — 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  133 

"  You  can  beat  me  at  talking,  Jane — but  all 
your  philosophy  and  poetry  can't  make  me  think 
Charles  Wilton  less  brilliant  and  sensible,  or  Wal- 
ter Gray  less  dull  and  spiritless." 

The  two  young  men  whose  merits  Jane  Emor^ 
and  Cara  Linton  had  thus  been  discussing,  had 
been  law  students  for  some  years  in  the  same  of- 
fice, and  were  now  just  admitted  to  practice  at 
the  bar  in  one  of  our  Atlantic  cities.  They  were 
friends,  though  altogether  unlike  each  other. 
Walter  Gray  was  modest  and  retiring,  while 
Charles  Wilton  was  a  dashing,  off-hand  kind  of  a 
fellow,  with  more  pretensions  than  merit.  The 
mind  of  Walter  was  rather  sluggish,  while  that  of 
his  friend  was  quick,  and  what  some  were  dis- 
posed to  esteem  brilliant.  The  one  was  fond  of 
dress  and  show,  and  effect ;  while  the  other  paid 
less  regard  to  these  things  than  was  really  neces- 
sary to  make  him,  with  many,  an  agreeable  com- 
panion. But  the  quick  perceptions  of  the  one 
were  not  equal  to  the  patient,  untiring  application 
of  the  other.  When  admitted  to  practice,  Wilton 
could  make  an  effective,  brilliant  speech,  and  in 
ordinary  cases,  where  an  appeal  to  the  feelings 
could  influence  a  jury,  was  uniformly  successful. 
But,  where  profound  investigation,  concise  rea- 


134  THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 

toning,  and  a  laborious  array  of  authorities  were 
requisite,  he  was  no  competitor  for  his  friend  Gray. 
He  was  vain  of  his  personal  appearance,  as  has 
before  been  indicated,  and  was  also  fond  of  plea- 
sure and  company.  In  short,  he  was  one  of  those 
dashing  young  men  to  be  met  with  in  all  profes- 
sions, who  look  upon  business  as  an  necessary 
evil,  to  be  escaped  whenever  a  opportunity 
fFers — whose-  expectations  of  future  prosperity 
are  always  large,  and  who  look  for  success,  not  in 
the  roads  of  patient,  laborious  application,  but  by 
a  quicker  and  more  brilliant  way.  They  hope  to 
produce  a  sensation  by  their  tact  or  talents,  and 
thus  take  fortune  by  storm.  Few,  indeed  we 
might  say  none,  of  this  class  succeed.  Those  who 
startle  a  community  by  rapid  advances,  are,  in  all 
cases,  such  as  have,  to  quick  perceptions  and  bril- 
liant powers,  added  much  labor.  Talent  is  noth- 
ing without  prolonged  and  patient  application  ; 
and  they  who  suppose  the  road  to  success  lies  in 
any  other  way,  may  discover  their  error  too  late. 
The  estimation  in  which  the  characters  of  these 
two  young  men  was  held,  at  least  by  two  individ- 
uals, the  preceding  conversation  has  apprised  the 
reader.  Each  made  his  impression  upon  a  cer- 
tain order  of  mind,  and  each  was  regarded,  or 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  135 

lightly  esteemed  accordingly.  Although  in  tal- 
ents and  in  a  right  estimation  of  life  and  its  true 
ends,  the  two  young  men  were  altogether  dissim- 
ilar ;  yet  were  they  friends,  and  in  many  respects 
intimate.  "Why  they  were  so,  we  shall  not  stop 
to  enquire,  but  proceed  to  introduce  them  more 
particularly  to  the  reader. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  Mrs.  Melton's 
this  evening  ?"  said  Wilton  to  his  friend,  a  few 
weeks  after  the  period  indicated  in  the  opening  of 
this  story. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  would  like  to  go.  A  social  eve- 
ning, now  and  then,  I  find  pleasant,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  it  is  useful  to  me." 

"  That  is  right,  Walter.  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
coming  out  of  your  recluse  habits.  You  want  the 
polish  and  ease  that  social  life  will  give  you." 

"  I  feel  that,  Wilton.  But  I  fear  I  am  too  old 
now  to  have  all  the  rough  corners  knocked  off, 

and  worn  smooth." 

t 

"  0,  don't  despair.  You'll  make  a  ladies'  man 
after  awhile,  if  you  persevere,  and  become  more 
particular  in  your  dress.  But,  to  change  the  sub- 
iect,  a  little,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Cara  Lin- 
ton  ?  Her  father  is  worth  a  plum,  and  she  is  jnst 


136  THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 

the  showy,  brilliant  woman,  of  which  a  man  like 
me  ought  to  be  proud  of." 

"  As  you.  ask  me,  Charles,  I  must  reply  candid 
ly.  I  would  think  her  a  dear  bargain  with  all  her 
father's  money  thrown  in  with  her ;  and  as  to  your 
other  reasons  for  thinking  of  her  as  a  wife,  I  con- 
sider them,  to  speak  plainly,  as  I  always  do  to  you, 
despicable  !" 

"  And  why  so,  Mr.  Philosopher  ?" 

"  A  wife  should  be  chosen  from  much  higher 
considerations  than  these.  "What  do  you  want 
with  a  brilliant,  showy  wife  ?  You  marry,  or  ought 
to  marry,  a  companion  for  yourself — not  a  wo- 
man for  the  world  to  admire." 

"  You  are  too  matter-of-fact,  by  half,  "Walter. 
Your  common  sense  ideas,  as  you  call  them,  will 
keep  you  grubbing  in  a  mole  hill  all  your  life. 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  woman  you  would  choose 

for  a  wife  !"    "  I  wish  you  had  a  few  of  these 

common  sense  ideas  you  despise  so  much.     I  am 

fraid,  Charles,  that  the  time  is  not  very  distant 

when  you  will  stand  sadly  in  need  of  them." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Walter.  I'll  take 
care  of  number  one.  Let  me  alone  for  that.  But, 
I  should  like  to  know  your  serious  objections  to 
Cara  ?  You  sweep  her  aside  with  one  wave  of 


HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS.  137 

your  hand,  as  if  she  were  too  insignificant  to  be 
thought  of  for  a  moment." 

"  I  said  that  /  should  consider  her  a  dear  bar- 
gain, and  so  I  would — for  she  would  not  suit  me 
t  all." 

"  Ah,  there  I  believe  you.  But  come,  let  me 
hear  why  she  would  not  suit  you." 

"  Because  she  has  no  correct  and  common 
sense  estimation  of  life  and  its  relations.  She  is 
full  of  poetry  and  romance,  and  fashion,  and  show, 
and  '  all  that  kind  of  thing  ;'  none  of  which,  with- 
out a  great  deal  of  the  salt  of  common  sense, 
would  suit  me." 

"  Common  sense  !  Common  sense  1  Common 
sense  !  That  is  your  hobby.  Verily,  Walter,  you 
are  a  monomaniac  on  the  subject  of  common  sense ; 
but,  as  for  me,  I  will  leave  common  sense  to  com- 
mon people.  I  go  in  for  uncommon  sense." 

"  The  poorest  and  most  unprofitable  sense  of 
all,  let  me  tell  you.  And  one  of  these  days  you 
/ill  discover  it  to  be  so." 

"  It  is  no  use  for  us  to  compare  our  philosophi- 
cal notes,  I  see  plainly  enough,"  Wilton  respond- 
ed. "  We  shall  never  view  things  in  the  same 
light.  You  are  not  the  man  of  the  world  you 
shonld  be,  Walter.  Men  of  half  your  merit  will 


138  THE   TWO    HUSBANDS. 

eclipse  you,  winning  opulence  and  distinction- 
while  you,  with  your  common  sense  notions,  will 
be  plodding  on  at  a  snail's  pace.  You  are  be- 
hind  the  age,  and  a  stranger  to  its  powerful,  on- 
ward impulses." 

"  And  ever  do  I  desire  to  remain  behind  the 
age,  Wilton,  if  mere  pretension  and  show  be  its 
ruling  and  impulsive  spirit." 

"  The  old  fashioned  way  of  attaining  eminence," 
Charles  "Wilton  replied,  assuming  an  attitude  and 
speaking  out  truly  the  thoughts  that  were  in  his 
mind ;  "  by  plodding  on  with  the  emmet's  patience, 
and  storing  up  "knowledge,  grain  by  grain,  brings 
not  the  hoped  for  reward,  now.  You  must  startle 
and  surprise.  The  brilliant  meteor  attracts  a 
thousand  times  more  attention,  than  the  brightest 
star  that  shines  in  the  firmament." 

"  You  are  trifling,  Charles." 

"  Never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  life.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  succeed ;  to  be  known  and 
envied.  And  to  gain  the  position  of  eminence  I 
desire,  I  mean  to  take  the  surest  way.  The  world 
will  be  deceived,  and,  therefore,  they  who  would 
succeed  must  throw  dust  in  people's  eyes." 

"  Or,  in  other  words,  deceive  them  by  preten- 
sion. Charles,  let  me  warn  you  against  any  such 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 


139 


unmanly,  and,  I  must  say,  dishonest  course.     Be 
true  to  yourself  and  true  to  principle." 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  true  to  myself,  Walter. 
For  what  pray  do  we  toil  over  dry  and  musty 
law  books  in  a  confined  office,  months  and  years 
if  not  to  gain  the  power  of  rising  in  the  world  ? 
I  have  served  my  dreary  apprenticeship — I  have 
learnt  the  art  and  mystery,  and  now  for  the  best 
and  most  certain  mode  of  applying  it." 

"  But,  remember  your  responsibility  to  society. 
Your " 

"  Nonsense  !  What  do  I,  or  what  does  any 
one  else  care  about  society  ?  My  motto  is,  Every 
one  for  himself,  and  the  deuce  take  the  hindmost. 
And  that's  the  motto  of  the  whole  world." 

"  Not  of  the  whole  world,  Charles." 

"  Yes,  of  the  whole  world,  with,  perhaps,  the 
single,  strange  exception  of  Walter  Gray.  And 
he  will  be  flung  to  the  wall,  and  soon  forgotten, 
I  fear." 

"  You  jest  on  a  serious  subject,  Charles." 

"  I  tell  you,  Walter,  I  am  in  earnest,"  Wilton 
replied  with  emphasis.  "He  that  would  be  ahead, 
must  get  ahead  in  the  best  way -possible.  But  I 
cannot  linger  here.  It  is  now  nearly  night ;  and 
it  will  take  me  full  two  hours  to  prepare  myself 


140  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

to  meet  Miss  Cara  Linton.  I  must  make  a  cap- 
tive of  the  dashing  maiden  this  very  evening." 
And  so  saying,  he  turned,  and  left  the  office. 

That  evening,  amid  a  gay  and  fashionable  as- 
semblage at  Mrs.  Merton's,  was  to  be  seen  the 
showy  Charles  Wilton,  with  his  easy,  and  even 
elegant  manners,  attracting  almost  as  much  atten- 
tion as  his  vain  heart  could  desire.  And  the 
quiet,  sensible  Walter  Gray  was  there  also,  look- 
ing upon  all  things  with  a  calm,  philosophic 
mein. 

"  Your  friend  Mr.  Wilton  is  quite  the  centre 
of  attraction  for  the  young  ladies,  this  evening," 
remarked  Jane  Emory,  who  was  leaning  upon  the 
arm  of  Walter  Gray,  and  listening  with  an  inter- 
est she  scarcely  dared  confess  to  herself,  to  hia 
occasional  remarks,  that  indicated  a  mind  active 
with  true  and  healthful  thought. 

"  And  he  seems  to  enjoy  it,"  replied  Walter, 
with  a  pleasant  tone  and  smile. 

"  Almost  too  much  so,  it  seems  to  me,  for  a 
man,"  his  companion  said,  though  with  nothing 
censorious  in  her  manner.  She  merely  expressed 
a  sentiment  without  showing  that  it  excited  un- 
kind feelings. 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS.  141 

"  Or  for  a  woman,  either,"  was  the  quick  res- 
ponse. 

"True.  But  if  pleased  with  attentions,  and 
even  admiration  may  we  not  be  excused?" 

"  0,  certainly.  We  may  all  be  excused  for  our 
weaknesses  ;  still  they  are  weaknesses,  after  all." 

"  And  therefore  should  not  be  encouraged." 

"  Certainly  not".  We  should  be  governed  by 
some  higher  end  than  the  mere  love  of  admiration 
— even  admiration  for  good  qualities." 

"  I  admit  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  and  yet, 
the  state  is  one  to  which  I  have  not  yet  attained." 

Walter  Gray  turned  a  look  full  of  tender  inter- 
est upon  the  maiden  by  his  side,  as  she  ceased 
speaking,  and  said  in  a  tone  that  had  in  it  much 
of  tenderness, 

"  You  express,  Miss  Emory,  but  the  feeling 
which  every  one  has  who  truly  desires  the  attain 
ment  of  true  excellence  of  character.  We  have 
not  this  excellence,  naturally,  but  it  is  within  the 
compass  of  effort.  Like  you,  I  have  had  to  re- 
gret the  weaknesses  and  deficiencies  of  rny  own 
character.  But,  in  self-government,  as  in  every 
thing  else,  my  motto  is,  Persevere  to  the  end. 
The  same  motto,  or  the  same  rule  of  action, 


142  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

clothed  in  other  words,  perhaps,  I  trust — nay,*I 
am  sure,  rules  in  your  mind." 

For  a  few  moments  Jane  did  not  reply.  She 
feared  to  utter  any  form  of  words  that  would 
mislead.  At  length  she^said,  modestly, 

"  I  try  to  subdue  in  me  what  is  evil,  or  that 
which  seems  to  me  to  act  in  opposition  to  good 
principles." 

Before  Walter  Gray,  pleased  with  the  answer, 
could  frame'in  bis  mind  a  fitting  reply,  Charles 
Wilton,  with  Cara  Linton  on  his  arm,  was  thrown 
in  front  of  them. 

"  Has  Walter  been  edifying  you  with  one  of 
the  Psalms  of  David,  Miss  Emory  ?"  said  Wilton, 
gaily.  "  One  would  think  so  from  his  solemn 
face,  and  the  demure,  thougttlful  expression  of 
yours." 

Neither  Walter  nor  his  fair  companion  were 
what  is  called  quick-witted ;  and  both  were  so 
checked  in  their  thoughts  and  feelings  that  neither 
could,  on  the  moment,  fitly  reply. 

"  0,  I  see  how  it  is,"  the  gay  young  man  con- 
Unued.  "  He  has  been  reading  you  some  of  his 
moral  homilies,  and  you  are  tired  to  death. 
Well,  you  must  bear  with  him,  Miss  Emory,  he 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS.  '143 

will  learn  better  after  awhile."  .And  the  young 
man  and  his  thoughtless  companion  turned  laugh- 
ing away. 

For  a  few  moments  the  disturbed  thoughts  of 
.Walter  and  his  fair  friend,  trembled  upon  the 
surface  of  their  feelings,  and  then  all  was  again  as 
tranquil  as  the  bosom  of  a  quiet  lake. 

Enough  has  now  been  said,  to  give  a  fair  idea 
of  the  ends  which  the  two  young  men,  we  have 
introduced,  set  before  them  upon  entering  life. 
Let  us  now  proceed  to  trace  the  effects  of  these 
ends  ;  effects,  which,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
involved  others  as  much  as  themselves. 


CHAPTEK   n. 

"  "Well,  Gray,  the  business  is  all  settled,"  said 
Wilton,  one  day,  coming  into  the  office  of  the  in- 
dividual he  addressed  so  familiarly. 

"  What  business,  Charles  ?" 

"  Why,  I've  won  the  rich  and  beautiful  Miss 
Linton.  Last  night  I  told  my  story,  and  was- re- 
ferred to  the  old  man,  of  course.  I  have  just  seen 
him,  and  he  says  I  am  welcome  to  the  hand  of 
his  daughter.  Now,  is  not  that  a  long  stride  up 
the  ladder  1  The.  most  beautiful  and  attractive 


144'  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

woman  in  the  city  for  a  wife,  and  an  old  dadtly 
in  law  as  rich  as  Croesus !" 

"  You  are  what  some  would  call  a  lucky  dog," 
said  Wilton,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  yet  there  is  no  luck  in  it.  '  Faint  heart, 
they  say,  '  never  won  fair  lady.'  I  knew  half-a- 
dozen  clever  fellows  who  were  looking  to  Miss 
Lintoh's  hand  ;  but  while  they  hesitated,  I  stepped 
boldly  up  and  carried  off  the  prize.  Let  me  alone, 
"Walter.  I'll  work  my  way  through  the  world." 

"  And  I,  too,  have  been  doing  something  in 
that  line." 

"  You  ?  Why,  Walter,  you  confound  me  !  I 
never  dreamed  that  you  would  have  the  courage 
to  make  love  to  a  woman." 

"  Wiser  ones  than  you  are  mistaken,  some- 
times." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.     But  who  is  the  fair  lady  ?" 

"  Can  you  not  guess  ?" 

"  Jane  Emory  ?" 

"  Of  course.  She  is  the  most  sensible  women 
it  has  yet  been  my  fortune  to  meet." 

"  Has  the  best  common  sense,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Exactly." 

"  You  are  a  genius,  Walter.  When  you  die,  I 
expect  you  will  leave  a  clause  in  your  will,  to  the 


THE   TWO    HUSBANDS.  145 

effect  that  the  undertaker  shall  be  a  man  of  good, 
plain,  common  sense.  0  dear !  "What  a  dull  life 
you  will  lead !  Darby  and  Joan !" 

"  You  are  still  a  trifler  with  serious  matters, 
Charles.  But  time  will  sober  you,  I  trust,  and  do 
it  before  soch  a  change  will  come  too  late." 

"  How  much  is  old  Emory  worth,  Walter  ?" 
"Wilton  asked,  without  regarding  the  last  remark 
of  his  friend. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  Not  a  great  deal, 
I  suppose." 

"You  don't  know?" 

"  No  ;  how  should  I  ?" 

"Well,  you  are  a  queer  one  1  It  is  time  that  you 
did  then,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  In  the  name  of  sense,  Walter,  what  are  you 
going  to  marry  his  daughter  for." 

"  Because  I  love  her." 

"  Pah  !  I  know  how  much  of  that  sort  of  thing 
appertains  to  the  business." 

«  Charles  1" 

"  Don't  look  so  utterly  dumfounded,  friend 
Walter." 

"  I  am  surprised,  and  I  must  say  pained,  to 


146  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

hear  you  speak  thus.    Surely  you  love  the  young 
lady  you  propose  to  marry  ?" 

"  Of  course.  But  then  I  have  a  decent  regard 
for  her  old  father's  wealth ;  and  I  am  by  no 
means  insensible  to  her  personal  attractions.  I 
group  all  that  is  desirable  into  one  grand  consid- 
eration— beauty,  wealth,  standing,  mental  endow- 
ments, etc., — and  take  her  for  the  whole.  But 
for  love — a  mere  impulse  that  will  die  of  itself,  if 
left  alone — to  marry  a  young  lady  !  0  no, — I  am 
not  the  simpleton  for  that !" 

Walter  Gray  looked  his  friend  in  the  face  for 
a  moment  or  two,  but  did  not  reply.  He  was 
pained,  even  shocked  at  his  levity. 

"  You   seem   really  to   doubt   my  being   in 
earnest?"  said  Wilton,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  would  doubt,  if  I  could,  Charles.  But  I 
fear  you  are  speaking  out  too  truly,  sentiments 
that  I  could  not  have  believed  you  capable  of  en- 
tertaining." 

"  You  are  too  simple  and  unsophisticated  to  live 
in  this  world,  my  old  friend  Walter  Gray." 

"  And  long  may  I  remain  so,"  was  the  calm 
response,  "  if  to  be  honest  and  sincere  is  to  be 
simple  and  unsophisticated." 


THE   TWO    HUSBANDS.  147 

"  "Well,  good  morning  to  you,  and  success  to 
your  love  marriage." 

And  so  saying,  Charles  Wilton  left  the  office 
of  his  friend. 

A  few  weeks  more  passed  away,  and  the  two 
young  men  had,  in  the  meantime,  consummated 
their  matrimonial  engagements.  The  wedding  of 
Charles  "Wilton  and  Cara  Linton  was  a  splendid 
affair,  succeeded  by  parties  and  entertainments 
for  five  or  six  weeks.  That  of  Walter  Gray  and 
Jane  Emory  passed  off  more  quietly  and  rationally. 

Three  months  after  their  wedding-day,  let  us 
look  in  upon  the  two  friends  and  their  fair  part- 
ners; and  first,  upon  Charles  Wilton  and  hia 
bride.  The  time  is  evening,  and  they  are  sitting 
alone  in  one  of  their  richly  furnished  parlors. 

"  0  dear !"  yawned  out  Wilton,  rising  and  walk- 
ing backwards  and  forwards,  "  this  is  dull  work. 
Is  there  no  place  where  we  can  go  and  spend  a 
pleasant  evening  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  Suppose  we  step  over 
and  see  Pa  ?" 

"  0  no.  We  were  there  two  or  three  evenings 
ago.  And,  any  how,  I  am  in  no  humor  for  play- 
ing at  draughts." 


148  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  go  there  this  evening 
I  want  to  see  Ma  about  something." 

"  You  can  easily  go  to-morrow,  Cara,  and  stay 
as  long  as  you  choose." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  go  to  night,  dear." 

"Don't  think  of  it,  Cara." 

"  Then  suppose  we  call  in  and  sit  an  hour  with 
the  Melton's  ?" 

"  Not  to-night,  Cara.  The  old  man  is  deaf,  and 
talks  you  out  of  all  patience  about  sugars  and  teas 
cotton  and  tobacco." 

"  But  the  girls  are  lively  and  entertaining." 

"Not  for  me,  Cara.     Think  again." 

"  Why  not  stay  at  home  ?" 

"  And  pray  what  shall  we  do  here  ?" 

"  I'll  sing  and  play  for  you." 

"  I  am  in  no  humor  for  music  to-night." 

His  young  wife  sighed,  but  Wilton  did  not  no- 
tice it. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  over  to  the  Grogans  ?"  he  at 
length  said. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  care  much  about  going 
there,"  his  wife  replied. 

"  Of  course  not.  You  never  seem  to  care  much 
about  going  where  I  wish  to,"  said  Wilton,  pet 
tishly. 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS.  149 

His  wife  burst  into  tears,  and  sat  sobbing  for 
some  minutes,  during  which  time  "Wilton  paced 
the  room  backwards  and  forwards,  in  moody  si- 
lence. After  a  while  his  wife  rose  up  and  stole 
quietly  from  the  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  re- 
turned, dressed,  to  go  out. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

"  Ready  to  go  where  ?" 

"  To  Mr.  Grogan's,  of  coursa  You  wish  to 
go." 

"  I  don't  care  about  going  now,  as  long  as  you 
are  unwilling." 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  willing,  Charles,  if  the  visit 
will  be  pleasant  to  you." 

"  0,  as  to  that,  I  don't  wish  to  compel  you  to 
go  anywhere." 

"  Indeed,  Charles,  I  am  willing  to  go,"  said  his 
wife,  while  her  voice  trembled  and  sounded  harsh- 
ly. "  Come,  now  that  I  am  ready.  I  wish  to  go.' 

For  a  moment  longer  Wilton  hesitated,  and 
then  took  up  his  hat  and  went  with  her.  -  Eew 
were  the  words  that  passed  between  them  as  they 
walked  along  the  street.  Arrived  at  their  friend's 
house  they  both  suddenly  changed,  and  were  as 
gay,  and  seemed  as  happy,  as  the  gayest  and  the 
happiest. 


150  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

•  •  *  *  • 

"  Shall  we  call  in  upon  some  pleasant  friends 
to-night  or  spend  our  evening  alone  ?"  asked 
Walter  Gray,  taking  a  seat  upon  the  sofa  beside 
his  happy  wife,  on  the  same  evening  that  the  fore- 
going conversation  and  incidents  occurred. 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  wish,  Walter,"  was  the  af- 
fectionate, truthful  reply. 

"  As  for  me,  Jane,  I  am  always  happy  at 
home — too  happy,  I  sometimes  think." 

"  How,  too1  happy  ?" 

"  Too  happy  to  think  of  others,  Jane.  We 
must  be  careful  not  to  become  isolated  and  sel- 
fish in  our  pleasures.  Our  social  character  must 
not  be  sacrificed.  If  it  is  in  our  power  to  add  to 
the  happiness  of  others,  it  is  right  that  we  should 
mingle  in  the  social  circle." 

"  I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  Walter,  and 
yet  I  find  it  hard  to  be  thus  unselfish.  I  am  sure 
that  I  would  a  thousand  times  rather  remain  at 
home  and  read  with  you  a  pleasant  book,  or  sing 
and  play  for  you,  than  to  spend  an  evening  away 
from  our  pleasant  home." 

"  I  feel  the  same  inclinations.  But  I  am  unwil- 
ling to  encourage  them.  And  yet,  I  am  not  an 
advocate  for  continual  visitings.  The  delights 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS.  151 

of  our  own  sweet  fireside,  small  though  tne  circle 
be,  I  would  enjoy  often.  But  these  pleasures 
will  be  increased  tenfold  by  our  willingness  to  let 
others  share  them,  and,  also,  by  our  joining  in 
their  home-delights  and  social  recreations." 

A  pause  of  a  few  moments  ensued,  when  Mrs. 
Gray  said, 

"  Suppose,  then,  Walter,  we  call  over  and  see 
how  they  are  getting  on  at '  home  ?'  Pa  and  Ma 
are  lonesome,  now  that  I  am  away." 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking  of,  Jane.  So  get 
on  your  things,  and  we  will  join  them  and  spend 
a  pleasant  evening." 

These  brief  conversations  will  indicate  to  the 
reader  how  each  of  the  young  men  and  their 
•wives  were  thus  early  beginning  to  reap  the  fruits 
of  true  and  false  principles  of  action.  We  can- 
not trace  each  on  his  career,  step  by  step,  during 
the  passage  of  many  years,  though  much  that 
would  interest  and  instruct  could  be  gathered 
from  their  histories.  The  limits  of  a  brief  story 
like  this  will  not  permit  us  thus  to  linger.  On, 
then,  to  the  grand  result  of  their  lives  we  must 
pass.  Let  us  look  at  the  summing  up  of  the 
whole  matter,  and  see  which  of  the  young  men 
started  with  the  true  secret  of  success  in  the 


152 


HOME   LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 


world,  and  which  of  the  young  ladies  evinced 
most  "wisdom  in  her  choice  of  a  husband. 


CHAPTER   III. 

*-     -  "  .  ' 

"  Poor  Mrs.  "Wilton !''  remarked  Mrs.  Gray, 
now  a  cheerful,  intelligent  woman  of  forty,  with 
half-a-dozen  grown  and  half-grown  up  daughters, 
"  it  makes  me  sad  whenever  I  see  her,  or  think  of 
her." 

"  Her  husband  was  not  kind  to  her,  I  believe, 
while  she  lived  with  him,"  said  Mrs.  Gray's 
visitor,  whom  she  had  addressed. 

"It  is  said  so.  But  I  am  sure  I*do  not  know. 
I  never  liked  him,  nor  thought  him  a  man  of  prin- 
ciple. I  said  as  much  as  I  thought  prudent  to  dis- 
courage her  from  receiving  his  attentions.  But  she 
was  a  gay  girl  herself,  and  was  attracted  by  dash- 
ing pretension,  rather  than  by  unobtrusive  merit." 

"  It  was  thought  at  one  time  that  Mr.  Wilton 
would  lead  in  the  profession  here.  I  remember 
when  his  name  used  frequently  to  get  into  the 
newspapers,  coupled  with  high  compliments  on 
his  brilliant  talents." 
7* 


154  THE    TWO   HUSBANDS. 

"  Yes.  He  flashed  before  the  eyes  of  the  crowd 
for  awhile,  but  it  was  soon  discovered  that  he  had 
more  brilliancy  than  substance.  The  loss  of  two 
or  three  important  cases,  that  required  solid  ar- 
gument and  a  well-digested  array  of  facts  and 
authorities,  instead  of  flights  of  fancy  and  appeals 
to  the  feelings,  ruined  his  standing  at  the  bar. 
The  death  of  his  father- in  law,  with  an  insolvent 
estate,  immediately  after,  took  wonderfully  from 
the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held.  Thrown, 
thus,  suddenly  back,  and  upon  his  own  resources, 
he  sunk  at  once  from  the  point  of  observation, 
and  lingered  around  the  court-house,  picking  up 
petty  cases,  as  a  matter  of  necessity.  Long  be- 
fore this,  I  had  noticed  that  Mrs.  Wilton  had 
greatly  changed.  But  now  a  sadder  change  took 
place — a  separation  from  her  husband.  The  cause 
of  this  separation  I  know  not.  I  never  asked  her, 
nor  to  me  has  she  ever  alluded  to  it.  But  it  is 
said  that  his  manner  towards  her  became  insuffer- 
able, and  that  she  sought  protection  and  an  a*y- 
lum  among  her  friends.  Be  the  cause  what  it 
may,  it  is  enough  to  make  her  a  poor,  heart- 
stricken  creature." 

"  How  well  I  remember,  when    their   parties 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  155 

were  the  most  splendid  and  best  attended  of  the 
season." 

"  Yes,  I  well  remember  it  too.  Still,  even  then, 
gay  and  brilliant  as  Mrs.  Wilton  was,  I  never 
thought  her  happy.  Indeed,  seeing  her  often 
alone  as  I  did,  I  could  not  but  mark  the  painful 
contrast  in  her  spirits.  At  home,  when  not  enter- 
taining company,  she  was  listless  or  unhappy. 
How  often  have  I  come  in  upon  her,  and  noticed 
her  moistened  eyes." 

"  Ah  me !  it  must  be  a  wrong  beginning  that 
makes  so  sad  an  ending." 

The  truth  of  the  remark,  as  applicable  in  this 
case,  struck  Mrs.  Gray  forcibly,  and  she  mused 
in  thoughtful  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news,  Judge  Gray  ?"  said 
a  lawyer,  addressing  the  individual  he  had  named, 
about  the  same  hour  that  the  conversation,  just 
noted,  occurred. 

«  No.     What  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  Wilton  has  committed  a  forgery." 

"  0  no,  it  cannot  be  !"  said  the  Judge,  in  tones 
of  painful  surprise. 

"  It  is  too  true,  I  fear,  Judge." 

"  Is  the  amount  considerable  ?" 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  is  the  sum  mentioned." 


156  THE   TWO    HUSBANDS. 

"  Has  he  been  arrested  ?" 

"No.  But  the  officers  are  hard  after  him 
The  newspapers  will  announce  the  fact  to-morrow 
morning." 

Judge  Gray  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand, 
and,  with  his  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor,  sat  for 
some  moments  in  painful  thought. 

"  Poor  man  1"  he  at  length  said,  looking  up. 
"  The  end  has  come  at  last.  I  have  long  feared 
for  him.  He  started  wrong  in  the  beginning." 

"  I  hope  they  will  catch  him,"  remarked  the  in- 
dividual he  was  addressing. 

Judge  Gray  did  not  reply,  but  cast  his  eyes, 
again  upon  the  floor. 

"  He  has  lived  by  gambling  these  six  years," 
continued  the  lawyer,  "  and  I  suppose  he  has  com- 
mitted this  forgery  to  pay  some  '  debt  of  honor.' 
"Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  am  sorry  to  be  rid  of  him 
from  this  bar,  for  he  was  not  a  pleasant  man  to 
be  forced  into  contact  with." 

"  And  yet  he  was  a  man  of  some  talents,"  re- 
marked the  Judge,  musingly. 

"  And  when  that  is  said  all  is  said.  Without 
industry,  legal  knowledge,  or  sound  principles  of 
action,  what  was  he  good  for  ?  He  would  do  for 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  157 

a  political  stump  declaimer — but,  as  a  lawyer,  in 
any  case  of  moment,  he  was  not  worth  a  copper." 

And  thus  saying,  the  lawyer  turned  away,  and 
'eft  Judge  Gray  to  his  own  thoughts. 

"  I  have  unpleasant  news  to  tell  you,  Jane,"  said 
Judge  Gray,  coming  into  the  room  where  sat  his 
wife,  an  hour  afterwards. 

"  What  is  that,  husband  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gray, 
looking  up  with  a  concerned  countenance. 

"  Why,  our  old  friend  Charles  Wilton  has  com- 
mitted a  forgery  !"  *  . 

"  Poor  Cara  !  It  will  break  her  heart,"  Mrs. 
Gray  said  in  a  sad  tone. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  she  has  much  affection  for 
him,  Jane." 

"  No,  but  she  has  a  good  deal  of  pride  left — all, 
in  fact,  that  sustains  her.  This  last  blow,  I  fear, 
will  be  too  much  for  one  who  has  no  true  strength 
of  character." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  call  in  and 
see  her  to-morrow  ?  The  papers  will  all  announce 
the  fact  in  the  morning,  and  tshe  may  need  the 
consolation  which  a  true  friend  might  be  able  to 
afford  her." 

"  I  will  go,  most  certainly,  much  as  my  natural 
feelings  shrink  from  the  task.  Where  she  is,  I 


158  THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 

am  sure  she  has  no  one  to  lean  upon  :  for  there  is 
not  one  of  her  so-called  friends,  upon  whom  she 
feels  herself  a  burden,  that  can  or  will  sympa- 
thize with  her  truly." 

"  Go,  then.  And  may  mercy's  errand  find 
mercy's  reward." 

On  the  next  morning  all  the  city  papers  teem- 
ed with  accounts  of  the  late  forgery,  and  blazon- 
ed Charles  Wilton's  name,  with  many  opprobrious 
epithets  before  the  public.  Some  went  even  so 
far  as  to  allude  to  his  wife,  whom  they  said  he 
had  forsaken  years  before,  and  who  was  now,  it 
was  alleged,  living  in  poverty,  and,  some  hinted 
in  disgrace  and  infamy. 

Early  in  the  day,  Mrs.  Gray  repaired  to  the, 
cheerless  home  of  her  early  friend.  She  was 
shown  to  her  chamber,  where  she  found  her  lying 
insensible  on  the  bed,  with  one  of  the  newspapers 
in  her  hand,  that  alluded  to  herself  in  disgraceful 
terms. 

Long  and  patient  efforts  to  restore  her,  at  length 
produced  the  desired  result.  But  it  was  many 
days  before- she  seemed  distinctly  conscious  of 
what  was  passing  or  would  converse  with  any  de- 
gree of  coherency. 

"Come  and  spend  a  few  weeks  with  me,  Cara, ' 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  159 

Mrs.  Gray  said  to  her,  one  day,  on  calling  in  to 
see  her ;  "  I  am  sure  it  will  do  you  good." 

There  was  a  sad,  but  grateful  expression  in  the 
pale  face  of  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  she  looked  into  the 
eye  of  her  old  friend,  but  ventured  no  reply. 

"  You  will  come,  will  you  not,  Cara?"  urged 
Mrs.  Gray. 

"  My  presence  in  your  happy  family  would  be 
like  the  shadow  of  an  evil  wing,"  said  she  bit- 
terly. 

"  Our  happy  family,  say  rather,  would  chase 
away  the  gloomy  shadows  that  darken  your 
heart.  Come  then,  and  we  will  give  you  a  cheerful 
welcome." 

•"  I  feel  much  inclined,  and  yet  I  hesitate,  for  I 
ought  not  to  throw  a  gloom  over  your  household," 
and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  glistened  through 
the  lids  which  were  closed  suddenly  over 
them. 

"  Come,  and  welcome !"  Mrs.  Gray  urged,  tak- 
ing her  hand  and  gently  pressingjt. 
.     That  evening  Mrs.  Wilton  spent  in  the  plea- 
sant family  of  her  old  friend. 

Three  weeks  afterwards,  Mrs.  Gray  asked  of 
her  husband,  if  anything  had  been  heard  of  Mr 
Wilton 


160 


THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 


"  Nothing,"  he  replied.  "  He  has  escaped  all 
pursuit  thus  far,  nnd  the  officers,  completely  at 
fault,  have  returned." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  sorry,  at  least  for  the 
sake  of  his  wife.  She  seems  more  cheerful  since 
she  came  here.  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  should 
like  to  offer  her  a  home,  for  she  has  none,  that 
might  truly  be  so  called." 

"  Act  up  to  your  kind  desire,  Jane,  if  you  think 
it  right  to  do  so,"  said  her  husband.  "  Perhaps 
in  no  other  home  open  to  her  could  so  much  be 
done  for  her  comfort." 

The  home  was  accordingly  offered,  and  tear- 
fully accepted. 

"  Jane,"  said  the  sad  hearted  woman,  "  I  can- 
not tell  you  how  much  I  have  suffered  in  the  last 
twenty  years.  How  much  from  heart- sickening 
disappointments,  and  lacerated  affections.  High 
hopes  and  brilliant  expectations  that  made  my 
weak  brain  giddy  to  think  of,  have  all  ended  thus. 
How  weak  and  foolish — how  mad  we  were  1 
But  my  husband  was  not  all  to  blame.  I  was 
as  insane  in  my  views  of  life  as  he.  We  lived 
only  for  ourselves — thought  and  cared  only  for 
ourselves — and  here  is  the  result.  How  wisely 
and  well  did  you  choose,  Jane.  Where  rny  eye 


HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  161 

saw  nothing  to  admire,  yours  more  skilled,  per 
ceived  the  virgin  ore  of  truth.  I  was  dazzled  by 
show,  while  you  looked  below  the  surface,  and 
saw  true  character,  and  its  effect  in  action.  How 
signally  has  each  of  us  been  rewarded  1"  and  the 
heart-stricken  creature  bowed  her  head  and 
wept. 

And  now,  kind  reader,  if  there  be  one  who  has 
followed  us  thus  far,  are  you  disappointed  in  not 
meeting  some  startling  denoument,  or  some  effec- 
tive point  in  this  narrative.  I  hope  not.  Natural 
results  have  followed,  in  just  order,  the  adoption 
of  true  and  false  principles  of  action — and  thus 
will  they  ever  follow.  Learn,  then,  a  lesson  from 
the  history  of  the  two  young  men  and  the  maid- 
ens of  their  choice.  Let  every  young  man  remem- 
ber, that  all  permanent  success  in  life  depends 
upon  the  adoption  of  such  principles  'of  action  as 
are  founded  in  honesty  and  truth  ;  and  let  every 
young  woman  take  it  to  heart,  that  all  her  mar 
ried  life  will  be  affected  by  the  principles  which 
her  husband  sets  down  as  rules  of  action.  Let 
her  give  no  consideration  to  his  brilliant  pros- 
pect, or  his  brilliant  mind,  if  sound  moral  prin- 
ciples do  not  govern  him. 

"  But  what  became  of  Charles  Wilton  and  his 


162  THE    TWO    HUSBANDS. 

wife  ?"    I  hear  a  bright-eyed  maiden  asking,   as 
she  turns  half  impatient  from  my  homily. 

Wilton  has  escaped  justice  thus  far,  and  his 
wife,  growing  more  and  more  cheerful  every  day, 
is  still  the  inmate  of  Judge  Gray's  family,  and  I 
trust  will  remain  so  until  the  end  of  her  journey- 
ing here.  And  what  is  more,  she  is  learning  the 
secret,  that  there  is  more  happiness  in  caring  for 
others,  than  in  being  all  absorbed  in  selfish  con- 
sideration. Still,  she  is  a  sad  wreck  upon  the 
stream  of  life — a  warning  beacon  for  your  eyes, 
young  lady. 


VISITING-  AS    NEIGHBOK6. 


"  I  see  that  the  house  next  door  has  been  taken,*1 
remarked  Mr.  Leland  to  his  wife,  as  they  sat 
alone  one  pleasant  summer  evening. 

"  Yes.  The  family  moved  in  to-day,"  returned 
Mrs.  Leland. 

"  Do  you  know  their  name  ?" 

"  It  is  Halloran." 

"  Halloran,  Halloran,"  said  Mr.  Leland,  mus- 
ingly. "  I  wonder  if  it's  the  same  family  that 
lived  in  Parker  Street." 

"  Yes,  the  same ;  and  I  wish  they  had  stayed 
there.' 


VISITING   AS   NEIGHBORS.  165 

"  Then-  moving  in  next  door  need  not  trouble 
us,  Jane.  They  are  not  on  our  list  of  acquain- 
tances." 

"But  I  shall  have  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Halo- 
ran;  and  Emma  upon  her  grown-up  daughter 
Mary." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  that  is  to  follow  as  a  con- 
eequence  of  their  removal  into  our  neighborhood'." 

"  Politeness  requires  us  to  visit  them  as  neigh- 
bors." 

"  Are  they  really  our  neighbors  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Leland,  significantly. 

"  Certainly  they  are.  How  strange  that  you 
should  ask  the  question  !" 

"  "What  constitutes  them  such  ?  Not  mere  prox- 
imity, certainly.  Because  a  person  happens  to 
live  in  a  house  near  by,  can  that  make  him  or  her 
really  a  neighbor,  and  entitled  to  the  attention 
and  consideration  due  a  neighbor  ?" 

This  remark  caused  Mrs.  Leland  to  look 
thoughtful.  "  It  ought  not,"  she  said,  after  sit- 
ting silent  a  little  while,  "  but  still,  it  does." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  A  neighbor — that  is,  one 
to  whom  kind  offices  is  due — ought  to  come  with 
higher  claims  than  the  mere  fact  of  living  in  a  cer- 
tain house  located  near  by  the  dwelling  in  which 


166  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

we  reside.  If  mere  location  is  to  make  any  one  a 
neighbor,  we  have  no  protection  against  the  an- 
noyance and  intrusions  of  persons  we  do  not  like ; 
nay,  against  evil-minded  persons,  who  would  de- 
light more  in  doing  us  injury  than  good.  These 
Hallorans  for  instance.  They  move  in  good  soci- 
ety ;  but  they  are  not  persons  to  our  mind.  I 
should  not  like  to  see  you  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  Mrs.  Halloran,  or  Jane  with  her  daughter. 
In  fact,  the  latter  I  should  feel,  did  it  exist,  to  be 
a  calamity." 

"  Still  they  are  our  neighbors,"  Mrs.  Leland 
said.  "  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  avoid  calling 
upon  them." 

"  Perhaps,"  remarked  the  husband,  "  you  have 
not  thought  seriously  enough  on  the  subject. 

"  Who  is  my  neighbor  ?  is  a  question  of  im- 
portance, and  ought  to  be  answered  in  every 
mind.  Something  more  than  living  in  the  same 
street,  or  block  of  houses,  is  evidently  implied  in 
the  word  neighbor.  It  clearly  involves  a  reciproc- 
ity of  good  feelings.  Mere  proximity  in  space 
cannot  effect  this.  It  requires  another  kind  of 
nearness — the  nearness  of  similar  affections  ;  and 
these  must,  necessarily,  be  unselfish  ;  for  in  sel- 
fishness there  is  no  reciprocity.  Under  this  view, 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  167 

could  you  consider  yourself  the  neighbor  of  such 
a  person  as  Mrs.  Halloran  ?" 

"  No  matter  what  the  character,  we  should  be 
kind  to  all.  Every  one  should  be  our  neighbor, 
so  far  as  this  is  concerned.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?' 

"  I  do  not,  Jane." 

"  Should  we  not  be  kind  to  every  one  ?" 

"  Yes,  kind ;  but  not  in  the  acceptation  of  the 
word  as  you  have  used  it.  There  is  a  false,  as 
well  as  a  true  kindness.  And  it  often  happens 
that  true  kindness  appears  to  be  any  thing  but 
what  it  really  is.  In  order  to  be  kind  to  another, 
we  are  not  always  required  to  exhibit  flattering 
attentions.  These  often  injure  where  distance 
and  reserve  would  do  good.  Besides,  they  too 
frequently  give  power  to  such  as  are  evil-disposed 
« — a  power  that  is  exercised  injuriously  to  others." 

"  But  the  simple  fact  of  my  calling  upon  Mrs. 
Halloran  cannot,  possibly,  give  her  the  power  of 
injuring  me  or  any  one  else." 

"  I  think  differently.  The  fact  that  you  have 
called  upon  her  will  be  a  reason  for  some  others 
to  do  the  same ;  for,  you  know,  there  are  persons 
who  never  act  from  a  distinct  sense  of  right,  but 
merely  follow  in  the  wake  of  others.  Thus  the 
influence  of  a  selfish,  censorious,  evil-minded  wo- 


163  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

man  will  be  extended.  So  far  as  you  are  con 
cerned,  the  danger  may  be  greater  than  you  im- 
agine. Is  Mary  Halloran,  in  your  estimation,  a 
fit  companion  for  our  daughter  ?  Could  she  be- 
come intimate  with  her,  and  not  suffer  a  moral  de- 
terioration ?" 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  a  call  upon  Mrs.  Hallo- 
ran  will  not  lead  to  this  result  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  sure.  Still,  I  do  not  apprehend 
any  danger." 

"  I  should  be  very  much  afraid  of  the  experi- 
ment." 

"  But,  do  you  not  think,  husband,  that,  apart 
from  all  these  fears,  I  am  bound  to  extend  to  Mrs. 
Halloran  the  courtesies  due  a  neighbor  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  con- 
sider her  a  neighbor ;  and,  therefore,  do  not  see 
that  you  owe  her  the  courtesies  to  which  you  al- 
lude. It  is  the  good  in  any  one  that  really 
makes  the  neighbor.  This  good  should  ever  be 
regarded.  But,  to  show  attentions,  and  give  em- 
inence and  consideration  to  an  evil-minded  person, 
is  to  make  evil,  instead  of  good,  the  neighbor. — • 
It  is  to  give  that  power  to  evil  which  is  ever  ex- 
ercised in  injury  to  others." 


VISITING   AS    NEIGHBORS.  169 

Mrs.  Leland's  mind  perceived  only  in  a  small 
degree  the  force  of  what  her  husband  said. — 
She  was  not  a  woman  who  troubled  herself  about 
the  characters  of  those  who  stood  upon  a  certain 
level  in  society.  Mrs.  Halloran  claimed  her 
place  from  wealth  and  family  connexions,  and  this 
place  was  rather  above  than  below  that  occupied 
by  Mrs.  Leland.  The  temptation  to  call  upon 
her  was,  therefore,  pretty  strong.  It  was  not  so 
much  a  regard  for  her  new  neighbor,  as  a  desire 
to  make  her  acquaintance,  that  influenced  her. — 
Acting  in  opposition  to  her  husband's  judgment, 
in  a  few  days  she  called  upon  Mrs.  Halloran. 

She  found  her,  to  use  her  own  words,  a  "charm- 
ing woman."  The  next  move  was  for  the  daugh- 
ter to  call  upon  Mary  Halloran.  Before  the  week 
passed,  these  calls  had  been  returned.  In  a  month 
the  two  families — that  is,  the  female  members  of 
them — had  become  quite  intimate.  This  intima- 
cy troubled  Mr.  Leland.  He  was  a  man  of  pure 
principles,  and  could  tolerate  no  deviation  from 
them.  Deeply  did  he  regret  any  association  that 
might  tend  to  weaken  the  respect  for  such  princi- 
ples with  which  he  had  sought  10  inspire  the  mind 
of  his  daughter.  In  them  he  knew  lay  the  power 
that  was  to  protect  her  in  the  world.  But  he 
8 


170  HOME   LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS. 

could  not  interfere,  arbitrarily,  with  his  wife ; 
that  he  would  have  considered  more  dangerous 
than  to  let  her  act  in  freedom.  But  he  felt  con- 
cerned for  the  consequence,  and  frequently  urged 
her  not  to  be  too  intimate  with  her  new  neighbor. 

"  Some  evil,  I  am  sure,  will  grow  out  of  it," 
he  would  say,  whenever  allusion  was  in  any  way 
made  to  the  subject  of  his  wife's  intimacy  with 
Mrs.  Halloran.  "No  one  can  touch  pitch  and 
not  be  defiled." 

"  I  really  must  blame  you,"  Mrs.  Leland  replied 
to  a  remark  like  this,  "  for  your  blind  opposition 
to  Mrs.  Halloran.  The  more  I  see  of  her,  the 
better  I  like  her.  She  is  a  perfect  lady.  So 
kind,  so  affable,  so — so" — 

Mr.  Leland  shook  his  head. 

"  The  mere  gloss  of  polite  society,"  he  returned. 
"  There  is  no  soundness  in  her  heart.  We  know 
that,  for  the  tree  is  judged  by  its  fruit." 

"  We  have  seen  no  evil  fruit,"  said  the  wife. 

"  Others  have,  and  we  know  that  others  have. — 
Her  conduct  in  the  case  of  the  Percys  is  notori- 
ous." 

"  Common  report  is  always  exaggerated." 

"  Though  it  usually  has  some  foundation  in 
truth.  But  granting  all  the  exaggeration  and  false 


t 

VISITING    AS   NEIGHBORS.  171 

judgment  that  usually  appertain  to  common  re- 
port, is  it  not  wiser  to  act  as  if  common  report 
were  true,  until  we  know  it  to  be  false  ?" 

But  it  was  useless  for  Mr.  Leland  to  talk. — 
His  wife  was  charmed  with  the  fascinating  neigh- 
bor, and  would  hear  nothing  against  her.  Jane, 
too,  had  become  intimate  with  Mary  Halloran,  a 
bold-faced  girl,  who  spent  half  of  her  time  in  the 
street,  and  talked  of  little  else  but  beaux  and 
dress.  Jane  was  eighteen,  and  before  her  acquain- 
tance with  Mary,  had  been  but  h'ttle  into  compa- 
ny. Her  intimacy  with  Mary  soon  put  new  no- 
tions into  her  head.  She  began  to  think  more  of 
dress,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  she  did  not 
go  out  with  her  very  intimate  and  pleasant  friend. 
Mrs.  Leland  did  not  like  this.  Much  as  she  was 
pleased  Mrs.  Halloran,  she  never  fancied  the 
daughter  a  great  deal,  and  would  have  been 
much  better  satisfied  if  the  two  young  ladies  had 
not  become  quite  so  intimate. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  said  to  Jane, 
who  came  down  stairs  dressed  to  go  out,  one 
morning. 

"  Mary  and  I  are  going  to  make  some  calls," 
she  replied. 

"  You  were  out  making  calls,  yesterday,  with 


; 

172  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

Mary,  and  the  day  before  also.  This  is  too  great 
a  -waste  of  time,  Jane.  I  would  rather  see  you 
at  home  more." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  wish  to  confine 
me  down  to  the  house.  Mary  Halloran  goes  and 
comes  when  she  pleases." 

"  Mary  Halloran  is  in  the  street  a  great  deal 
too  much.  I  am  far  from  wishing  to  see  you  im- 
itate her  example." 

"  But  what  harm  is  there  in  it,  mother  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,  Jane.  It  gives  idle  habits,  and 
makes  the  mind  dissatisfied  with  the  more  sober 
duties  of  life." 

"  I  am  too  young  for  the  sober  duties  of  life," 
said  Jane,  rather  pertly. 

"  That  is,  doubtless,  one  of  your  friend  Mary's 
sentiments ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  her." 

This  was  true,  and  Jane  did  not  deny  it. 

"  Go  now,"  said  Mrs.  Leland,  with  much  sobri- 
ety of  manner.  "  But  remember  that  I  disapprove 
of  this  gadding  about,  and  object  to  its  continu- 
ance. I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  your  father 
know  to  what  extent  you  are  carrying  it." 

Jane  went  out  and  called  for  Mary,  and  the 
two  young  ladies  made  a  few  calls,  and  then 
walked  the  streets  until  dinner  time ;  not,  how- 


ViSITING    AS    NEIGHBOK8.'  173 

ever,  alone,  but  accompanied  by  a  dashing  young 
fellow,  who  had  been  introduced  to  Mary  a  few 
evenings  before,  and  now  made  bold  to  follow  up 
the  acquaintance,  encouraged  by  a  glance  from 
the  young  lady's  bright,  inviting  eyes. 

Mrs.  Leland,  in  the  mean  time,  felt  unhappy. 
Her  daughter  was  changing,  and  the  change  trou- 
bled her.  The  intimacy  formed  with  Mary  Hal- 
loran,  it  was  clear,  was  doing  her  no  good,  but 
harm.  By  this  time,  too,  she  had  noticed  some 
things  in  the  mother  that  were  by  no  means  to 
her  taste.  There  was  a  coarseness,  vulgarity  and 
want  of  delicacy  about  her,  that  showed  itself 
more  and  more  every  day,  traits  of  character  par- 
ticularly offensive  to  Mrs.  Leland,  who  was  a  wo- 
man of  refined  sentiments.  Besides,  Mrs.  Hallo- 
ran's  conversation  involved  topics  neither  interest 
ing  nor  instructing  to  her  neighbors ;  and  often 
of  a  decidedly  objectionable  kind.  In  fact,  she 
liked  her  less  and  less  every  day,  and  felt  her  too 
frequently  repeated  visits  as  an  annoyance ;  and 
though  "  Why  don't  you  come  in  to  see  me  often- 
er  ?"  was  repeated  almost  daily,  she  did  not  re- 
turn more  than  one  out  of  every  half  dozen  calls 
she  received. 

"  I've  seen  Jane  in  the  street  with  that  Mary 


174  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

Halloran  no  less  than  three  times  this  week,"  said 
Mr.  Leland,  one  day,'"  and  on  two  of  these  occa- 
sions there  was  a  beau  accompanying  each  of  the 
young  ladies." 

"  She  goes  out  too  oiten,  I  know,"  returned  Mrs. 
Leland  seriously.  "  I  have  objected  to  it  several 
times,  but  the  girl's  head  seems  turned  with  that 
Mary  Halloran.  I  do  wish  she  had  never  known 
her." 

"  So  do  I,  from  my  heart.  We  knew  what  she 
was,  and  never  should  have  permitted  Jane  to 
make  her  acquaintance,  if  it  had  been  in  our  pow- 
er to  prevent  it." 

"  It  is  too  late  now,  and  can't  be  helped." 

"  Too  late  to  prevent  the  acquaintance,  but  not 
Loo  late  to  prevent  some  of  the  evil  consequences 
likely  to  grow  out  of  such  an  improper  intimacy, 
which  must  cease  from  the  present  time." 

"  It  will  be  a  difficult  matter  to  break  it  off 
now."  *  ,. 

"  No  matter  how  difficult  it  may  be,  it  must  be 
done.  The  first  step  toward  it  you  will  have  to 
make,  in  being  less  intimate  with  the  mother, 
whom  I  like  less  and  less  the  oftener  I  meet  her." 

"  That  step,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  has  al- 
ready been  taken.  I  have  ceased  visiting  Mrs. 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  175 

Halloran  almost  entirely ;  but  she  is  here  just  as 
often,  and  sadly  annoys  me.  I  dislike  her  more 
and  more  every  day." 

"  If  I  saw  as  much  in  any  one  to  object  to  aa 
you  see  in  Mrs.  Halloran,  I  would  soon  make  vis- 
iting a  thing  by  no  means  agreeable.  You  can 
easily  get  rid  of  her  intrusive  familiarity  if  you 
think  proper." 

"  Yes,  by  offending  her,  and  getting  the  ill-will 
of  a  low-minded  unprincipled  woman;  a  thing 
that  no  one  wants." 

"  Better  offend  her  than  suffer,  as  we  are  likely 
to  suffer,  from  a  continuance  of  the  acquaintance. 
Offend  the  mother,  I  say,  and  thus  you  get  rid  of 
the  daughter." 

But  Mrs.  Leland  was  not  prepared  for  this  step, 
yet.  From  having  been  fascinated  by  Mrs.  Hal- 
loran, she  now  began  to  fear  her. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  have  her  talk  of  me  as  she 
talks  of  some  people  whom  I  think  a  great  deal 
better  than  she  is." 

"  Let  her  talk.  What  she  says  will  be  no  scan- 
dal," returned  Mr.  Leland. 

"  Even  admit  that,  I  don't  want  to  be  on  bad 
terms  with  a  neighbor.  If  she  were  to  remove 
from  the  neighborhood,  the  thing  would  assume 


176  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

a  different  aspect.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  do  as  1 
please." 

"  Can't  you  indeed  ?  Then  I  think  we  had  bet- 
ter move  forthwith,  in  order  that  you  may  be  free 
to  act  right.  There  is  one  thing  that  I  intend  do- 
ing, immediately,  in  any  event,  and  that  is,  to  for- 
bid Jane  from  associating  any  longer  with  Mary 
Halloran." 

"  She  cannot  help  herself.  Mary  calls  for  her 
every  day."  % 

"  She  can  help  going  out  with  her  and  re- 
turning her  calls ;  and  this  she  must  do." 

"  I  wish  it  could  be  prevented.  But  I  am  afraid 
of  harsh  measures." 

"  I  am  more  afraid  of  the  consequences  to  our 
daughter.  We  know  not  into  what  company  this 
indiscreet  young  lady  may  introduce,  nor  how 
deeply  she  may  corrupt  her.  Our  duty  to  our 
child  requires  us  at  once  to  break  up  all  inter- 
course with  the  family." 

The  necessity  Mrs.  Leland  saw  clearly  enough, 
but  she  hesitated.  Her  husband,  however,  was 
not  a  man  to  hold  back  when  his  duty  was  before 
him.  Neither  fear  nor  favor  governed  him  in  his 
actions  toward  others.  When  satisfied  that  a 
thing  ought  to  be  done,  he  entered  fearlessly  *-t»on 


VISITING    AS    KKiGHBORS.  177 

the  work,  leaving  consequences  to  take  care  of 
themselves. 

While  they  were  yet  conversing  Jane  came  to 
the  door,  accompanied  by  a  young  gallant.  Mr, 
Lelaud  happened  to  be  sitting  near  the  window 
and  saw  him. 

"  Bless  my  heart  1"  he  said,  in  an  excited  voice, 

"  Here  she  is  now,  in  company  with  that  good- 
for-nothing  son  of  Mr.  Clement.  She  might  almost 
as  well  associate  with  Satan  himself." 

"  With  John  Clement  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Leland,  in 
surprise. 

"  It  is  too  true  j  and  the  fellow  had  the  assur- 
ance to  kiss  his  hand  to  her.  This  matter  has 
gone  quite  far  enough  now,  in  all  conscience,  and 
must  be  stopped,  if  half  the  world  become  of- 
fended." 

Mrs.  Leland  doubted  and  hesitated  no  longer. 
The  young  man  who  had  come  home  with  Jane 
bore  a  notoriously  bad  character.  It  was  little 
less  than  disgrace,  in  the  eyes  of  virtuous  people, 
for  a  lady  to  be  seen  in  the  street  with  him.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Leland  were  shocked  and  distressed  at 
the  appearance  of  things ;  and  mutually  resolved 
that  all  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Halloran  and  her 
daughter  should  cease.  This  could  not  be  effected 


178  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

without  giving  offence;  but  no  matter,  offence 
would  have  to  be  given. 

On  that  very  afternoon  Mrs.  Halloran  called  in. 
But  Mrs.  Leland  sent  her  word  that  she  was  en- 
gaged. 

"  Engaged,  indeed !"  said  the  lady  to  the  ser- 
vant, tossing  her  head.  "  I'm  never  engaged  to 
a  neighbor." 

The  servant  repeated  the  words. 

"  Be  engaged  again,  if  she  calls,"  said  Mr.  Le- 
land, when  his  wife  mentioned  the  remark  of  her 
visitor.  "It  will  raise  an  effectual  barrier  be- 
tween you." 

Some  serious  conversation  was  had  with  Jane 
that  day  by  her  mother,  but  Jane  was  by  no 
means  submissive. 

"  Your  father  positively  forbids  any  farther  in- 
timacy between  you  and  Mary  Halloran.  I  shall 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her  mother." 

Jane  met  this  declaration  with  a  passionate 
gush  of  tears,  and  an  intimation  that  she  was  not 
prepared  to  sacrifice  the  friendship  of  Mary, 
whom  she  believed  to  be  quite  as  good  as  herself. 

"  It  must  be  done,  Jane.  Your  father  has  the 
best  of  reasons  for  desiring  it,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  think  for  a  moment  of  opposing  his  wishes." 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  179 

"  lie  doesn't  know  Mary  as  I  know  her.  His 
prejudices  have  no  foundation  in  truth,"  said 
Jana 

"  No  matter  how  pure  she  may  be,"  replied  the 
mother,  "  she  has  already  introduced  you  into  bad 
company.  A  virtuous  young  lady  should  blush 
to  be  seen  in  the  street  with  the  man  who  came 
home  with  you  to-day." 

"  "Who,  Mr.  Clement  ?"  inquired  Jane. 

"  Yes,  John  Clement.  His  bad  conduct  is  so 
notorious  as  to  exclude  him  entirely  from  the  fam- 
ilies of  many  persons,  who  have  the  independence 
to  mark  with  just  reprehension  his  evil  deeds.  It 
grieves  me  to  think  that  you  were  not  instinctively 
repelled  by  him  the  moment  he  approached  you." 

Jane's  manner  changed  at  these  words.  But 
the  change  did  not  clearly  indicate  to  her  mother 
what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  From  that  mo- 
ment she  met  with  silence  nearly  every  thing  that 
her  mother  said. 

Early  on  the  next  day  Mary  Halloran  called 
for  Jane,  as  she  was  regularly  in  the  habit  of  do- 
ing. Mrs.  Leland  purposely  met  her  at  the  door, 
and  when  she  inquired  for  Jane,  asked  her,  with 
an  air  of  cold  politeness,  to  excuse  her  daughter, 
as  she  was  engaged. 


180  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"Not  engaged  to  me,"  said  Mary,  evincing 
surprise. 

"  You  must  excuse  her,  Miss  Halloran ;  she  is 
engaged  this  morning,"  returned  the  mother,  with 
as  much  distance  and  formality  as  at  first. 

Mary  Hallorau  turned  away,  evidently  of- 
fended. 

"  Ah  me  1"  sighed  Mrs.  Leland,  as  she  closed 
the  door  upon  the  giddy  young  girl ;  "  how  much 
trouble  has  my  indiscreetness  cost  me.  My  hus- 
band was  right,  and  I  felt  that  he  was  right  ,•  but, 
in  the  face  of  his  better  judgment,  I  sought  the 
acquaintance  of  this  woman,  and  now,  where  the 
consequences  are  to  end,  heaven  only  knows." 

"Was  that  Mary  Halloran?"  inquired  Jane, 
who  came  down  stairs  as  her  mother  returned 
along  the  passage. 

"  It  was,"  replied  the  mother. 

"  Why  did  she  go  away  ?" 

"  I  told  her  you  were  engaged." 

"  Why,  mother  1"  Jane  seemed  greatly  dis- 
turbed. 

"  It  is  your  father's  wish  as  well  as  mine,"  said 
Mrs.  Leland  calmly,  "that  all  intercourse  between 
you  and  this  young  lady  cease,  and  for  reasons 
that  I  have  tried  to  explain  to  you.  She  is  one 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  181 

whose  company  you  cannot  keep  without  in- 
jury." 

Jane  answered  with  tears,  and  retired  to  her 
chamber,  where  she  wrote  a  long  and  tender  let- 
ter to  Mary,  explaining  her  position.  This  letter 
she  got  the  chambermaid  to  deliver,  and  bribed 
her  to  secrecy  Mary  replied,  in  an  epistle  full 
of  sympathy  "for  her  unhappy  condition,  and  full 
of  indignation  at  the  harsh  judgment  of  her  pa- 
rents in  regard  to  herself.  The  letter  contained 
various  suggestions  in  regard  to  the  manner  in 
which  Jane  ought  to  conduct  herself,  none  of 
them  at  all  favorable  to  submission  and  concluded 
with  warm  attestations  of  friendship. 

From  that  time  an  active  correspondence  took 
place  between  the  young  ladies,  and  occasional 
meetings  at  times  when  the  parents  of  Jane  sup- 
posed her  to  be  at  the  houses  of  some  of  their 
friends. 

As  for  Mrs.  Halloran,  she  was  seriously  offend- 
ed at  the  sudden  repulse  both  she  and  her  daugh- 
ter had  met,  and  spared  no  pains,  and  let  no  op- 
portunity go  unimproved,  for  saying  hard  things 
of  Mrs.  Leland  and  her  family.  Even  while  Mary 
was  carrying  on  a  tender  and  confidential  corres 
pondence  with  Jane,  she  was  hinting  disreputable 


182  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

things  against  the  thoughtless  girl,  and  doing  hei 
a  serious  injury. 

The  first  intimation  that  the  parents  had  of  any 
thing  being  wrong,  was  the  fact  that  two  very  esti- 
mable ladies,  for  whom  they  had  a  high  respect, 
and  with  whose  daughters  Jane  was  on  terms  of 
intimacy,  twice  gave  Jane  the  same  answer  that 
Mrs.  Leland  had  given  Mary  Halloran ;  thus  vir- 
tually saying  to  her  that  they  did  not  wish  her  to 
visit  their  daughters.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leland, 
when  Jane  mentioned  these  occurrences,  left  trou- 
bled. Not  long  after,  a  large  party  was  given 
by  one  of  the  ladies,  but  no  invitations  were  sent 
to  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Leland,  or  their  daughter. 
This  was  felt  to  be  an  intended  omission. 

After  long  and  serious  reflection  on  the  subject, 
Mrs.  Leland  felt  it  to  be  her  duty,  as  a  parent,  to 
see  this  lady,  and  frankly  ask  the  reason  of  her 
conduct  towards  Jane,  as  well  as  toward  her  and 
her  husband.  She  felt  called  upon  to  do  this, 
in  order  to  ascertain  if  there  were  not  some 
things  injurious  to  her  daughter  in  common  re- 
port. The  lady  seemed  embarrassed  on  meeting 
Mrs.  Leland,  but  the  latter,  without  any  excite- 
ment, or  the  appearance  of  being  in  the  least  of 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  183 

fended,  spoke  of  what  had  occurred,  and  then 
said — 

"  Now,  there  must  be  a  reason  for  this.  Will 
you  honestly  tell  me  what  it  is  ?" 

The  lady  seemed  confused  and  hesitated. 

"  Do  not  fear  to  speak  plainly,  my  dear  mad- 
am. Tell  me  the  whole  truth.  There  is  some- 
thing wrong,  and  I  ought  to  know  it.  Put  your- 
self in  my  place,  and  you  will  not  long  hesitate 
what  to  do." 

"  It  is  a  delicate  and  painful  subject  for  me  to 
speak  of  to  you,  Mrs.  Leland." 

"  No  matter.     Speak  out  without  disguise." 

After  some  reflection,  the  lady  said — 

"  I  have  daughters,  and  ant  tremblingly  alive 
to  their  good.  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  protect 
them  from  all  associations  likely  to  do  them  an 
injury.  Am  I  not  right  in  this  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly."  I 

"  There  is  one  young  man  in  this  city  whose 
very  name  should  shockj;he  ear  of  innocence  and 
purity.  I  mean  Clement." 

"  You  cannot  think  worse  of  him  than  I  do." 

"  And  yet,  I  am  told,  Mrs.  Leland,  that  your 
daughter  may  be  seen  on  the  street  with  him  al- 


184  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS, 

most  every  day ;  and  not  only  on  the  streeet,  but  at 
balls,  concerts,  and  the  theatre." 

"  "Who  says  so  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  it  from  several,"  replied  the  lady 
speaking  slower  and  more  thoughtfully.  "  Mrs. 
Halloran  mentioned  it  to  the  person  who  first  told 
me ;  and,  since  then,  I  have  frequently  heard  it 
spoken  of." 

In  answer  to  this,  Mrs.  Leland  related  the 
whole  history  of  her  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Hal- 
loran, and  the  cause  of  its  interruption.  She  then 
said — 

"  Once,  only,  are  we  aware  of  our  daughter's 
having  met  this  young  man.  Since  then,  she  has 
gone  out  but  rarely,  and  has  not  been  from  home 
a  single  evening,  unless  in  our  company ;  so  that 
the  broad  charge  of  association  with  Clement  is 
unfounded,  and  has  had  its  origin  in  a  malignant 
spirit." 

"  I  understand  it  all,  now,  clearly,"  replied  the 
lady.  "  Mrs.  Halloran  is  a  woman  of  no  princi- 
ple. You  have  deeply  offended  her,  and  she  takes 
this  method  of  being  revenged." 

"  That  is  the  simple  truth.  I  was  urged  by  my 
husband  not  to  call  upon  her  when  she  moved  in 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  185 

our  square,  but  I  felt  it  to  be  only  right  to  visit 
her  as  a  neighbor." 

"  A  woman  like  Mrs.  Halloran  is  not  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  neighbor,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  So  my  husband  argued,  but  I  was  blind 
enough  to  think  differently,  and  to  act  as  I 
thought.  Dearly  enough  am  I  paying  for  my 
folly.  Where  the  consequences  will  end  is  more 
than  I  can  tell." 

"  We  may  be  able  to  counteract  them  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,"  said  the  lady.  "  Understanding  as 
I  now  do,  clearly,  your  position  toward  Mrs.  Hal- 
loran, I  will  be  able  to  neutralize  a  great  deal 
that  she  says.  But  I  am  afraid  your  daughter 
is  misleading  you  in  some  things,  and  giving  color 
to  what  is  said  of  her." 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Leland  in  surprise. 

"  Was  she  out  yesterday  ?" 

"Yes.  She  went  to  see  her  cousins  in  the 
morning." 

"  One  of  my  daughters  says  she  met  her  in  the 
street,  in  company  with  the  very  individual  of 
whom  we  are  speaking." 

"  Impossible  !" 

"  My  daughter  says  she  is  not  mistaken,"  re 
turned  the  lady. 


186  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Mrs.  Leland's  distress  of  mind,  as  to  this  intel- 
ligence, may  be  imagined.  On  returning  home 
she  found  that  Jane  had  gone  out  during  her  ab- 
sence. She  went  up  into  her  daughter's  room, 
and  found  a  note  addressed  to  J  ane  lying  upon 
her  table.  After  some  reflection,  she  felt  it  to  be 
her  duty  to  open  the  note,  which  she  did.  It  was 
from  Mary  Halloran,  and  in  these  words  : — 

"  MY  SWEET  FRIEND, — I  saw  Mr.  Clement  last 
night  at  the  opera.  He  had  a  great  deal  to  say 
about  you,  and  uttered  many  flattering  compli- 
ments on  your  beauty.  He  says  that  he  would 
like  to  meet  you  to-morrow  evening,  and  will  be 
at  the  corner  of  Eighth  and  Pine  streets  at  half 
past  seven  o'clock.  Can  you  get  away  at  that 
time,  without  exciting  suspicion  ?  If  you  can, 
don't  fail  to  meet  him,  as  he  is  very  desirous  that 
you  should  do  so.  I  was  delighted  with  the  opera, 
and  wished  a  hundred  times  that  you  were  with 
ine  to  enjoy  it.  Yours,  forever, 

MARY." 

Mrs.  Lei  and  clasped  her  hands  together,  and 
leaned  forward  upon  the  bureau  near  which  she 
had  been  standing,  scarcely  able  to  sustain  her 
own  weight.  It  was  many  minutes  before  she 


VISITING    AS   NEIGHBORS.  187 

could  think  clearly.  After  much  reflection,  she 
thought  it  best  not  to  say  anything  to  Jane  about 
the  note.  This  course  was  approved  by  Mr.  Le- 
land,  who  believed  with  his  wife,  that  it  was  bet- 
ter that  Jane  should  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  ita 
contents,  at  least  until  the  time  mentioned  for  her 
joining  Clement  had  passed.  Both  the  parents 
were  deeply  troubled ;  and  bitterly  did  Mrs.  Le 
land  repent  her  folly  in  making  the  acquaintance 
of  their  new  neighbor,  simply  because  she  was  a 
neighbor  according  to  proximity. 

It  was  after  seven  o'clock  when  the  tea  bell 
rang  that  evening.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leland  de- 
scended to  the  dining-room,  and  took  their  places 
at  the  table. 

"  Where  is  Jane  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Leland,  after 
they  had  been  seated  a  few  moments. 

"'She  went  out  five,  or  ten  minutes  ago,"  replied 
the  waiter. 

Both  the  mother  and  father  started,  with  excla 
mations  of  surprise  and~  alarm,  from  the  table 
Mr.  Leland  seized  his  hat  and  cane,  and  rushing 
from  the  house,  ran  at  full  speed  toward  the  place 
which  Clement  had  appointed  for  a  meeting  with 
his  daughter.  He  arrived  in  time  to  see  a  lady 
hastily  enter  a  carriage,  followed  by  a  man.  The 


188  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

carnage  drove  off  rapidly.  A  cab  was  passing 
near  him  at  the  time,  to  the  driver  of  which  he 
called  in  an  excited  voice. 

"  Do  you  see  that  carriage  ?"  Mr.  Leland  said 
eagerly,  as  the  man  reined  up  his  horse.  "  Keep 
within  sight  of  it  until  it  stops,  and  I  will  give 
you  ten  dollars." 

"  Jump  in,"  returned  the  driver.  "  I'll  keep  in 
sight." 

For  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  wheels  of 
the  cab  rattled  in  the  ears  of  Mr.  Leland.  It  then 
stopped,  and  the  anxious  father  sprang  out  upon 
the  pavement.  The  carriage  had  drawn  up  a  little 
in  advance,  and  a  lady  was  descending  from  it, 
assisted  by  a  man.  Mr.  Leland  knew  the  form  of 
Tiis  daughter.  Ere  the  young  lady  and  her  attend- 
ant could  cross  the  pavement,  he  had  confronted 
them.  Angry  beyond  the  power  of  control,  he 
seized  the  arm  of  Jane  with  one  hand,  and,  as  he 
drew  away  from  her  companion,  knocked  hirn 
down  with  a  tremendous  blow  from  the  cane 
which  he  held  in  the  other.  Then  dragging,  or 
rather  carrying,  his  frightened  daughter  to  the 
cab,  thrust  her  in,  and,  as  he  followed  after,  gave 
the  driver  the  direction  of  his  house,  and  ordered 
him  to  go  there  at  the  quickest  speed.  Jane  either 


VISITING    AS    NEIGHBORS.  189 

was,  or  affected  to  be,  unconscious,  when  she  ar- 
rived at  home. 

Two  days  after,  this  paragraph  appeared  in  one 
of  the  daily  papers. 

"  SAVED  FROM  THE  BRINK  OF  RUIN. — A  young 
man  of  notoriously  bad  characfer,  yet  connected 
with  one  of  our  first  families,  recently  attempted 
to  draw  aside  from  virtue  an  innocent  but  thought- 
less and  unsuspecting  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  re- 
spectable citizen.  He  appointed  a  meeting  with 
her  in  the  street  at  night,  and  she  was  mad  enough 
to  join  him  at  the  hour  mentioned,  fortunately 
it  happened  that  the  father,  by  some  means,  re- 
ceived intelligence  of  what  was  going  on,  and  hur- 
ried to  the  place.  He  arrived  in  time  to  see  them  en- 
ter a  carriage  and  drive  off.  He  followed  in  an- 
other carriage,  and  when  they  stopped  before 
a  hou&e,  well  known  to  be  one  of  evil  repute,  he 
confronted  them  on  the  pavement,  knocked  the 
young  villain  down,  and  carried  his  daughter  off 
home.  We  forbear  to  mention  names,  as  it  would 
do  harm,  rather  than  good,  the  young  lady  being 
innocont  of  any  evil  intent,  and  unsuspicious  of 
wrong  in  her  companion.  We  hope  it  will  prove 


190  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

a  lesson  that  she  will  never  forget.  She  made  a 
most  fortunate  escape." 

When  Jane  Leland  was  shown  this  paragraph, 
she  shuddered  and  turned  pale ;  and  the  shudder 
went  deeper,  and  her  cheek  became  still  paler,  a 
few  weeks  later  when  the  sad  intelligence  came 
that  Mary  Halloran  had  fallen  into  the  same 
snare  that  had  been  laid  for  her  feet ;  a  willing 
victim  too  many  believed,  for  she  was  not  igno- 
rant of  Clement's  real  character. 

By  sad  experience  Mrs.  Leland  was  taught 
the  folly  of  any  weak  departure  from  what  is  clear- 
ly seen  to  be  a  right  course  of  action;  and  she  un- 
derstood, better  than  she  had  ever  done  before, 
the  oft-repeated  remark  of  her  husband  that "  only 
those  whose  principles  and  conduct  we  approve 
are  to  be  considered,  in  any  true  sense,  neigh- 
bors." 


NOT   AT   HOME. 


JONAS  BEBEE  has  one  merit,  if  he  possesses  no 
other,  and  that  is,  the  merit  of  being  able  to  make 
himself  completely  at  home  with  all  his  friends, 
male  or  female,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  under 
any  and  all  circumstances.  His  good  opinion  of 
himself  leaves  no  room  for  his  imagination  to  con- 
ceive the  idea,  that  possibly  there  may  be,  in  his 
character,  certain  peculiarities  not  agreeable  to 
all.  It  never  occurs  to  him,  that  he  may  chance 
to  make  a  malapropos  visit,  nor  that  the  prolon- 
gation of  a  call  may  be  a  serious  annoyance  ;  for 
he  is  so  entirely  satisfied  with  himself  that  he  is 


192  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.    . 

sure  every  one  else  must  feel  his  presence  as  a 
kind  of  sunshine. 

Of  course,  such  being  the  character  of  Mr.  Jo- 
nas Bebee,  it  may  readily  be  inferred  that  he  is 
very  likely  to  commit  an  occasional  mistake,  and 
blunder,  though  unconsciously,  into  the  commis- 
sion of  acts  most  terribly  annoying  to  others.  His 
evening   calls  upon  ladies  generally  produce    a 
marked  effect  upon  those  specially  selected  for  the 
favor.     The  character  of  the  effect  will  appear  in 
the  following  little  scene,  which  we  briefly  sketch- 
"  Gentleman  in   the   parlor,"  says  a  servant 
coming  into  a  room  where  two  or  three  young  la 
dies  sit  sewing  or  reading. 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  is  the  natural  inquiry. 
"Mr.  Bebee. ;i 
"  Goodness !" 

"  Say  we  are  not  at  home,  Kitty." 
«  No — no,  Kitty,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  inter- 
poses one.     "  Tell  him  the  ladies  will  be  down  in 
a  little  while." 

Kitty  accordingly  retires. 
"  I'm  not  going  down,"  says  one,  more  self 
willed  and  independent  than  the  rest. 

"  You've  as  much  right  to  be  annoyed  with  him 
as  we  have,"  is  replied  to  this. 


NOT    AT    HOME.  193 

•'  I  don't  care." 

"  I  wish  he'd  stay  away  from  here.  Nobody 
wants  nim." 

"  He's  after  you,  Aggy." 

"  After  me !"  replied  Agnes.  "  Goodness  Knows 
I  don't  want  him.  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  him !" 

"  It's  no  use  fretting  ourselves  over  the  annoy- 
ance, we've  got  to  endure  it,"  says  one  of  the 
young  ladies.  "  So,  come,  let's  put  on  the  best 
face  possible." 

"  You  can  go,  Cara,  if  you  choose,  but  I'm  in 
no  hurry ;  nor  will  he  be  in  any  haste  to  go.  Say 
to  him  that  I'  11  bp  along  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour." 

"  No,  you  must  all  make  your  own  apologies." 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Bebee  patiently  awaits 
the  arrival  of  the  ladies,  who  make  their  appear- 
ance, one  after  the  other,  some  time  during  the 
next  half  hour.  He  cornplimeniathem,  asks  them 
to  sing  and  play,  and  jf">ds  the  conversation  until 
towards  eleven  o'clock,  when  he  retires  in  the 
best  possible  humor  with  himself  and  the  inter- 
esting young  ladies  favored  with  his  presence. 
He  has  hot  even  a  distant  suspicion  of  the  real 
truth,  that  his  visit  was  considered  an  almost  un- 
endurable infliction. 
9 


194  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Mr.  Bebee's  morning  calls  are  often  more  un- 
welcome. He  walks  in,  as  a  matter  of  cpurse, 
takes  his  seat  in  the  parlor,  and  sends  up  his 
name  by  the  servant.  If  told  that  the  lady  is  not 
at  home,  a  suspicion  that  it  may  not  be  so  does 
not  cross  his  mind ;  for  he  cannot  imagine  it  pos- 
sible that  any  one  would  make  such  an  excuse  in 
order  to  avoid  seeing  him.  Should  the  lady  not 
be  willing  to  utter  an  untruth,  nor  feel  indepen- 
dent enough  to  send  word  that  she  is  engaged,  an 
hour's  waste  of  time,  at  least,  must  be  her  penal- 
ty; for  Mr.  Bebee's  morning  calls  are  never  of 
shorter  duration.  He  knows,  as  well  as  any  one, 
that  visits  of  politeness  should  be  brief;  but  he  is 
on  such  familiar  terms  with  all  his  friends,  that 
he  can  waive  all  ceremony — and  he  generally  does 
so,  making  himself  "  at  home,"  as  he  says, 
wherever  he  goes. 

One  day  Mr.  Jonas  Bebee  recollected  that  he 
had  not  called  upon  a  certain  Mrs.  Fairview,  for 
some  weeks;  and  as  the  lady  was,  like  most  of 
his  acquaintances,  a  particular  friend,  he  felt  that 
he  was  neglecting  her.  So  he  started  forth  to 
make  her  a  call. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  Mrs.  Fairview,  after  hav- 
ing been,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  morning,  in 


NOT    AT    HOME.  195 

the  kitchen  making  cake,  came  up  to  the  parlor 
to  dust  and  re-arrange  some  of  the  articles  there 
a  little  more  to  her  liking.  Her  hair  was  in  pa- 
pers, and  her  morning  wrapper  not  in  a  very  ele- 
gant condition,  having  suffered  a  little  during  the 
cake-making  process.  It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and 
Mrs.  Fairview  was  about  leaving  the  parlor,  when 
some  one  rung  the  bell.  Gliding  noiselessly  to 
the  window,  she  obtained  a  view  of  Mr.  Bebee. 

"  0,  dear  1"  she  sighed,  "  am  I  to  have  this  in 
fliction  to-day  ?  But  it's  no  use ;  I  won't  see 
him  1» 

By  this  time  the  servant  was  moving  along  the 
passage  towards  the  door. 

"  Hannah  !"  called  the  lady,  in  a  whisper,  beck 
oning  at  the  same  time  with  her  hand. 

Hannah  came  into  the  parlor. 

"  Say  I'm  not  at  home,  Hannah." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  the  girl,  who  proceeded 
on  towards  the  street  door,  while  Mrs.  Fairview 
remained  in  the  parlor^-. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Fairview  in  ?"  the  latter  heard  the 
visitor  ask. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Hanuah. 

"  Not  in  ?" 

t;  JSo,  sir.     She's  gone  out." 


196  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

By  this  time  Mr.  Bebee  stood  within  the  ves- 
tibule. 

"  0,  well;  I  reckon  I'll  just  drop  in  and  wait 
awhile.  No  doubt  she'll  be  home,  soon." 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  return  before  two 
o'clock,"  said  Hannah,  knowing  that  her  mis- 
tress, looking  more  like  a  scare- crow  than  a  gen- 
teel lady,  was  still  in  the  parlor,  and  seeing  that 
the  visiter  was  disposed  to  pass  her  by  and  make 
himself  a  temporary  occupant  of  the  same  room. 

"  No  matter,"  returned  the  gentleman,  "  I'll 
just  step  in  for  a  little  while  and  enjoy  myself  by 
the  parlor  fire.  It's  a  bitter  cold  day — perhaps 
she  will  be  home  sooner." 

"  0,  no,  sir.  She  told  me  that  she  would  not 
come  back  until  dinner-time,"  said  the  anxious 
Hannah,  who  fully  appreciated  the  dilemma  in 
which  her  mistress  would  find  herself,  should  Mr. 
Bebee  make  his  way  into  the  parlor. 

"  It's  no  consequence.  You  can  just  say  to 
her,  if  she  does  not  return  while  I  am  here,  that 
I  called  and  made  myself  at  home  for  half  an 
hour  or  so."  And  with  this,  Mr.  Bebee  passed 
by  the  girl,  and  made  his  way  towards  the  parlor. 

In  despair,  Hannah  ran  back  U,  iioi  pi  ace  in 
the  kitchen,  wondering  what  her  mistress  would 


NOT    AT   HOME.  197 

say  or  do  when  Mr.  Bebee  found  that  she  was  at 
home — and,  moreover,  in  such  a  plight ! 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Fairview,  who  had  been 
eagerly  listening  to  what  passed  between  Hannah 
and  the  visiter,  finding  that  he  was  about  invad- 
ing her  parlor,  and  seeing  no  way  of  escape,  re- 
treated into  a  little  room,  or  office,  built  off  from 
and  communicating  only  with  the  parlor.  As 
she  entered  this  room  and  shut  the  door,  the  cold 
air  penetrated  her  garments  and  sent  a  chill 
through  her  frame.  There  was  no  carpet  on  the 
floor  of  this  little  box  of  a  place,  and  it  contained 
neither  sofa,  chair,  nor  anything  else  to  sit  upon. 
Moreover,  it  had  but  a  single  door,  and  that  one 
led  into  the  parlor.  Escape,  therefore,  was  cut 
off,  entirely ;  and  to  remain  long  where  she  was 
could  not  be  done  except  at  the  risk  of  taking  a 
severe  cold. 

Through  the  openings  in  a  Venitian  blind  that 
was  hung  against  the  glass  door,  Mrs.  Fairview 
saw  the  self-satisfied  Mr.  Bebee  draw  up  the  large 
cushioned  chair  before  the  grate,  and  with  a  boo& 
in  his  hand,  seat  himself  comfortably  and  begin 
to  make  himself  entirely  "  at  home."  The  pros- 
pect was,  that  he  would  thus  remain  "  at  home," 
for  at  least  the  next  half  hour,  if  not  longer 


198  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"What  was  she  to  do  ?    The  thermometer  was  al- 
;  most  down  to  zero,  and  she  was  dressed  for  a 
temperature  of  seventy. 

"  I  shall  catch  my  death  a  cold,"  she  sighed, 
as  the  chilly  air  penetrated  her  garments,  and 
sent  a  shudder  through  her  frame. 

Comfortably,  and  as  much  at  home  as  if  he 
were  in  his  own  parlor,  sat  Mr.  Bebee  in  front  of 
the  roaring  grate,  rocking  himself  in  the  great 
arm-chair,  and  enjoying  a  new  book  which  he  had 
found  upon  the  table. 

As  Mrs.  Fairview  looked  at  him,  and  saw  the 
complete  repose  and  satisfaction  of  his  manner, 
she  began  to  feel  in  utter  despair.  Already  her 
teeth  were  beginning  to  chatter,  and  she  was 
shivering  as  if  attacked  by  a  fit  of  ague.  Five, 
ten,  fifteen,  twenty  minutes  elapsed — but  there 
sat  the  visitor,  deeply  absorbed  in  his  book ;  and 
there  stood  the  unfortunate  lady  who  was  "  not 
at  home,"  so  benumbed  with  cold  as  almost  to 
have  lost  the  sense  of  bodily  feeling.  A  certain 
feeling  in  the  throat  warned  her  that  she  was 
taking  cold,  and  would,  in  all  probability,  suffer 
from  inflammation  of  the  windpipe  and  chest. 
Five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  more  went  by ;  but  Mr 


NOT    AT   HOME.  199 

Beebe  did  not  move  from  his  place.  He  was  far 
too  comfortable  to  think  of  that. 

At  last  after  remaining  in  prison  for  nearly  an 
hour,  Mrs.  Fairview,  who  by  this  time  was  be- 
ginning to  sufler,  besides  excessive  fatigue,  from 
a  sharp  pain  through  her  breast  to  her  left  shoul- 
der blade,  and  who  was  painfully  aware  that  she 
had  taken  a  cold  that  would,  in  all  probability, 
put  her  in  bed  for  a  week,  determined  to  make 
her  escape  at  all  hazards.  Mr.  Beebe  showed  no 
disposition  to  go,  and  might  remain  for  an  hour 
longer.  Throwing  an  apron  over  her  head  and 
face,  she  softly  opened  the  door,  and  gliding  past 
her  visitor,  escaped  into  the  hall,  and  ran  panting 
up  stairs.  Mr.  Beebe  raised  his  head  at  this  un- 
expected invasion  of  the  parlor,  but  on  reflection 
concluded  that  the  person  who  so  suddenly  ap- 
peared and  disappeared  was  merely  a  servant  in 
the  family. 

About  an  hour  afterwards,  finding  that  Mrs. 
Fairview  did  not  return,  Mr.  Beebe  left  his  card 
on  the  table,  and  departed  in  his  usual  comforta 
ble  state  of  mind. 

Poor  Mrs.  Fairview  paid  dearly  for  her  part  in 
this  transaction.  A  severe  attack  of  inflammation 
of  the  lungs  followed,  which  came  near  resulting 


200  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

in  death.  It  was  nearly  three  weeks  before  she 
was  able  to  leave  her  room,  and  then  her  physician 
said  she  must  not  venture  out  before  the  mild 
weather  of  the  opening  spring. 

A  few  days  after  the  lady  was  able  to  go  about 
the  house  again,  Mr.  Bebee  called  to  congratulate 
her  on  her  recovery.  Two  of  her  children  were 
in  the  parlor ;  one  eleven  years  old,  and  the  other 
a  child  in  her  fourth  year. 

"  0,  you  naughty  man,  you  !"  exclaimed  the 
latter,  the  moment  she  saw  Mr.  Bebee.  The  old- 
est of  the  two  children,  who  understood  in  a  mo- 
ment what  her  little  sister  meant,  whispered  : 

"  H-u-s-h  !— h-u-s-h  !    Mary  !" 

"  What  am  I  naughty  about,  my  little  sis  ?" 
said  Mr.  Bebee. 

"  O,  because  you  are  a  naughty  man  !  You 
made  my  mother  sick,  so  you  did  !  And  mother 
says  she  never  wants  to  look  in  your  face  again. 
You  are  a  naughty  man  !" 

"  Mary !  Mary !  Hush  !  hush  !"  exclaimed  the 
elder  sister,  trying  to  stop  the  child. 

"  Made  your  mother  sick  ?"  said  Mr.  Bebee. 
«  How  did  I  do  that  ?" 

"  "Why,  you  shut  her  up  in  that  little  room  there, 


NOT    AT    HOME.  20  i 

9 

all  in  the  cold,  when  you  were  here  and  staid  so 
long,  one  day.  And  it  made  her  sick — so  it  did." 

"  Shut  her  up  in  that  room !  what  does  the 
child  mean  ?"  said  Mr.  Bebee,  speaking  to  the 
elder  sister. 

"  Mary !  Mary !  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  Come 
away !"  was  the  only  response  made  to  this. 

Mr.  Bebee  was  puzzled.  He  asked  himself  as 
to  the  meaning  of  this  strange  language.  All  at 
once,  he  remembered  that  after  he  had  been  sit' 
ting  in  the  parlor  for  an  hour,  on  the  occasion  re- 
ferred to,  some  one  had  come  out  of  the  little  room 
referred  to  by  the  child,  -and  swept  past  him  al- 
most as  quick  as  a  flash.  But  it  had  never  once 
occurred  to  him  that  this  was  the  lady  he  had 
called  to  visit,  who,  according  to  the  servant,  was 
not  at  home. 

"  I  didn't*  shut  your  mother  up  in  that  room, 
Mary,"  said  he,  to  the  child. 

"  0,  but  you  did.  And  she  got  cold,  and  al- 
most died." 

At  this  the  elder  sister,  finding  that  she  could 
do  nothing  with  little  Mary,  escaped  from  the 
parlor,  and  running  up  stairs,  made  a  report  to  her 
mother  of  what  was  going  on  below. 

9* 


202  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

% 

"  Mercy  !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  painful  sur. 
prise. 

"  She  told  him  that  you  said  you  never  wanted 
to  look  upon  his  face  again,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  She  did !" 

"  Yes.  And  she  is  telling  him  a  great  deal 
more.  I  tried  my  best  to  make  her  stop,  but 
couldn't." 

"  Eachel !  Go  down  and  bring  that  child  out 
of  the  parlor  1"  said  Mrs.  Fairview,  to  a  servant. 
"  It  is  too  bad  !  I  had  no  idea  that  the  little  witch 
knew  anything  about  it.  So  much  for  talking 
before  children !" 

"  And  so  much  for  not  being  at  home  when 
you  are,"  remarked  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Fairview, 
who  happened  to  be  present 

"  So  much  for  having  an  acquaintance  who 
makes  himself  at  home  in  your  house,  whether  you 
«vant  him  or  not." 

"  No  doubt  you  are  both  sufficiently  well  pun- 
ished." • 

"  I  have  been,  I  know." 

The  heavy  jar  of  the  street  door  was  heard  at 
this  moment. 

"  He's  gone,  I  do  believe !" 

And  so  it  proved.     What  else  little  Mary  said 


VISITING   AB   NEIGHBORS.  203 

to  him  was  never  known,  as  the  violent  scolding 
she  received  when  her  mother  got  hold  of  her, 
sealed  her  lips  on  the  subject,  or  drove  all  im- 
pressions relating  thereto  from  her  memory. 
Mr    Bebee  never  called  again 


THE    FATAL    EEBOE 


"  CLINTON  !"  said  Margaret  Hubert,  with  a  look 
of  supreme  contempt.  "  Don't  speak  of  him  to 
me,  Lizzy.  His  very  name  is  an  offence  to  my 
ears  !"  and  the  lady's  whole  manner  became  dis- 
turbed. 

"  He  will  be  at  the  ball  to-night,  of  course,  and 
will  renew  his  attentions,"  said  the  friend,  in  an 
earnest,  yet  quiet  voice.  "  Now,  for  all  your  ex- 
pressions of  dislike,  I  have  thought  that  you 
were  really  far  from  being  indifferent  to  Mr. 
Clinton,  and  affected  a  repugnance  at  variance  -1 
with  your  true  feelings." 


THE    FATAL    ERROR. 


205 


"  Lizzy,  you  will  offend  me  if  you  make  use  of 
such  language.  I  tell  you  he  is  hateful  to  me," 
replied  Miss  Hubert. 

"  Of  course,  you  ought  to  know  your  own  state 
of  mind  best,"  said  Lizzy  Edgar.  "  If  it  is  really 
as  you  say,  I  must  confess  that  my  observation 
has  not  been  accurate.  As  to  ther^Aeing  any- 
thing in  Mr.  Clinton  to  inspire  an  Wnotion  of 
contempt,  or  create  so  strong  a  dislike  as  you  ex. 
press,  I  have  yet  to  see  it.  To  me  he  has  ever 
appeared  in  the  light  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Then  suppose  you  make  yourself  agreeable 
to  him,  Lizzy,"  said  Miss  Hubert. 

"  I  try  to  make  myself  agreeable  to  every  one," 
replied  the  even-minde/l  girl.  "  That  is  a  duty  I 
owe  to  those  with  whom  I  associate." 

"  "Whether  you  like  them  or  not  ?" 

"  It  doesn't  follow,  because  I  do  not  happen  to 
like  a  person,  that  I  should  render  myself  dis- 
agreeable to  him." 

"  I  never  tolerate  people  that  I  don't  like,"  said 
Miss  Hubert. 

"  "We  needn't  associate  too  intimately  with 
those  who  are  disagreeable  to  us,"  returned  her 
friend ;  "  but  when  we  are  thrown  together  in 
society,  the  least  we  can  do  is  to  be  civil." 


206  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  You  may  be  able  to  disguise  your  real  feelings, 
but  I  cannot.  Whatever  emotion  passes  over  my 
mind  is  seen  in  my  face  and  discovered  in  my  tone 
of  voice.  All  who  know  me  see  me  as  I  am." 

And  yet,  notwithstanding  this  affirmation,  Mar- 
garet Hubert  did  not,  at  all  times,  display  her  real 
feelings.  -*A.nd  her  ^riend  Lizzy  Edgar  was  right 
in  assuiiflfe,tliat  she  was  by  no  means  indifferent 
to  Mr.  Clinton.     The  appearance  of  dislike  was 
assumed  as  'a.  mask,  and  the  distance  and  reserve 
she  displayed  towards  him  were  the  offspring  of  a 
false  pride  and  unwomanly  self-esteem.     The  truth 
was,  her  heart  had,  almost  unsought,  been  won. 
The  manly  bearing,  personal  grace  and  brilliant 
mind  of  Philip  Clinton,  had  captivated  her  feelings 
and  awakened  an  emotion  of  love  ere  she  was 
conscious  that  her  heart  was  in  danger.     And  she 
had  even  leaned  towards  him  instinctively,  and  so 
apparently  that  the  young  man  observed  it,  and 
*  was  attracted  thereby.     The  moment,  however, 
he   became  at  all  marked  in  his  attentions,  the 
*%hole  manner  of  Margaret   changed.     She  was 
then  aware  of  the  rashness  she  had  displayed,  and 
her  pride  instantly  took  the  alarm.     Reserve,  dig- 
nity, and  even  hauteur,  characterized  her  bearing 
towards  Clinton  ;  and  to  those  who  spoke  of  him 


THE    FATAL    ERROR.  207 

as  a  lover,  she  replied  in  terras  nearly  similar  to 
what  she  used  to  her  friend  Lizzy  Edgar,  on  the 
occasion  to  which  reference  has  just  been  made. 

All  this  evidenced  weakness  of  mind  as  well  as 
pride.  She  wished  to  be  sought  before  she  was 
won — at  least,  that,  was  the  language  she  used  to 
herself.  Her  lover  must  come,  like  a  knight  of 
old,  and  sue  on  bended  knee  for  favor. 

Clinton  observed  the  marked  change  in  her  man- 
ner. Fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind,  he  was 
not  so  deeply  in  love  as  to  be  very  seriously  dis- 
tressed. He  had  admired  her  beauty,  her  accom- 
plishments, and  the  winning  grace  of  her  manners ; 
and  more,  had  felt  his  heart  beginning  to  warm  to- 
wards her.  But  the  charm  with  which  she  had 
been  invested,  faded  away  the  moment  the  change 
of  which  we  have  spoken  became  apparent.  He 
was  not  a  man  of  strong,  ungovernable  impulses ; 
all  his  passions  were  under  the  control  of  right 
reason,  and  this  gave  him  a  clear  judgment.  Con- 
sequently, he  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  for 
an  experiment  such  as  Margaret  Hubert  was  ma- 
king. At  first  he  thought  there  must  be  some 
mistake,  and  continued  to  offer  the  young  lady 
polite  attentions,  coldly  and  distantly  as  they  were 
received.  He  even  went  farther  than  his  real 


208  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

feelings  bore  him  out  in  going,  and  made  partic- 
ular advances,  in  order  to  be  perfectly  satisfied 
that  there  was  no  mistake  about  her  dislike  or  re- 
pugnance. 

But  there  was  one  thing  which  at  first  Clinton 
did  not  understand.  It  was  this.  Frequently, 
when  in  company  where  Margaret  was  present,  he 
would,  *  he  turned  his  eyes  suddenly  upon  her, 
find  that  she  was  looking  at  him  with  an  expression 
which  told  him  plainly  that  he  was  not  indifferent 
to  her.  This  occurred  so  often,  and  was  so  fre- 
quently attended  with  evident  confusion  on  her 
part,  that  he  began  to  have  a  suspicion  of  the  real 
truth,  and  to  feel  disgust  at  so  marked  an  exhibi- 
tion of  insincerity.  Besides,  the  thought  of  be- 
ing experimented  upon  in  this  way,  did  not  in  the 
least  tend  to  soften  his  feelings  towards  the  fair 
one.  He  believed  in  frankness,  honesty  and  re- 
ciprocal sincerity.  He  liked  a  truthful,  ingenuous 
mind,  and  turned  instinctively  from  all  artifice,  co- 
quetry or  affectation. 

The  game  which  Miss  Hubert  was  playing  had 
been  in  progress  only  a  short  time,  when  her 
friend  Lizzy  Edgar,  who  was  on  terms  of  close  in- 
timacy, spent  the  day  with  her,  occupying  most 
of  the  time  in  preparation  for  a  fancy  ball  that  was 


THE    FATAL    ERROR.  209 

to  come  off  that  night.  The  two  young  ladies  at- 
tired themselves  with  much  care,  each  with  a 
view  to  effect.  Margaret  looked  particularly  to 
the  assumption  of  a  certain  dignity,  and  her  cos- 
tume for  the  evening  had  been  chosen  with  that 
end  in  view.  A  ruff,  and  her  grand-mother's  rich 
silk  brocade,  did  give  to  her  tall  person  all  the 
dignity  she  could  have  desired. 

At  the  proper  time  the  father  of  Miss  Hubert 
accompanied  the  young  ladies  to  the  ball,  pre- 
parations for  which  had  for  some  time  been  in  pro- 
gress. As  soon  almost  as  Margaret  entered  the 
room,  her  eyes  began  to  wander  about  in  search 
of  Mr.  Clinton.  It  was  not  long  before  she  dis- 
covered him — nor  long  before  his  eyes  rested  upon 
and  recognized  her  stately  figure. 

"  If  she  be  playing  a  part,  as  I  more  than  half 
suspect,"  said  the  young  man  to  himself,  "  her 
performance  will  end  to-night,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

And  with  the  remark,  he  moved  towards  that 
part  of  the  room  where  the  two  young  ladies  were 
standing.  Lizzy  returned  his  salutations  with  a 
frank  and  easy  grace,  but  Margaret  drew  herself 
up  coldly,  and  replied  to  his  remarks  with  brief 
formality.  Clinton  remained  with  them  only  long 


210  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

enough  to  pass  a  few  compliments,  and  then  mov 
ed  away  and  mingled  with  the  crowd  in  another 
part  of  the  large  saloon,  where  the  gay  company 
were  assembled.  During  the  next  hour,  he  took 
occasion  now  and  then  to  search  out  Margaret  in 
the  crowd,  and  more  than  once  he  found  that  her 
eyes  were  upon  him. 

"  Once  more,"  he  said,  crossing  the  room  and 
going  up  to  where  she  was  leaning  upon  the  arm 
of  an  acquaintance. 

"  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you 
in  the  next  set  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Margaret,  with  un- 
bending dignity ;  "  I  am  already  engaged." 

Clinton  bowed  and  turned  away.  The  fate  of 
the  maiden  was  sealed.  She  had  carried  her  ex- 
periment too  far.  As  the  young  man  moved 
across  the  room,  he  saw  Lizzy  Edgar  sitting 
alone,  her  face  lit  up  with  interest  as  she  noted 
the  various  costumes,  and  observed  the  ever-form 
ing  and  dissolving  tableaux  that  filled  the  saloon, 
and  presented  to  the  eye  a  living  kaleidoscope. 

"  Alone,"  he  said,  pausing  before  the  warm- 
hearted, even  tempered  girl. 

"  One  cannot  be  alone  here,"  she  replied,  with 
a  sweet  smile  irradiating  her  countenance.  "  What 


THE    FATAL    ERROR.  211 

a  fairy  scene  it  is,"  she  added,  as  her  eyes  wan- 
dered from  the  face  of  Clinton  and  again  fell  upon 
the  brilliant  groups  around  them. 

"  Have  you  danced  this  evening  ?"  asked  Clin- 
ton. 

"  In  one  set,"  answered  Lizzy. 

"  Are  you  engaged  for  the  next  in  which  you 
may  feel  disposed  to  take  the  floor  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  may  I  claim  you  for  my  partner  ?" 

"  If  it  is  your  pleasure  to  do  so,"  replied  Lizzy 
smiling. 

In  a  cotillion  formed  soon  afterward  in  that  part 
of  the  room,  were  Margaret  Hubert  and  her 
sweet  friend  Lizzy  Edgar.  Margaret  had  a 
warmer  color  on  her  cheeks  than  usual,  and  her 
dignity  towered  up  into  an  air  of  haughtiness,  all 
of  which  Clinton  observed.  Its  effect  was  to  make 
his  heart  cold  towards  her,  instead  of  awakening 
an  ardent  desire  to  win  a  proud  and  distant 
beauty. 

In  vain  did  Margaret  look  for  the  young  man 
to  press  forward,  the  moment  the  cotillion  was 
dissolved,  and  claim  her  for  the  next.  He  lin- 
gered by  the  side  of  Miss  Edgar,  more  charmed 
with  her  than  he  had  ever  been,  until  some  one 


212  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

else  came  and  engaged  the  hand  of  Miss  Hubert 
The  disappointed  and  unhappy  girl  now  unbent 
herself  from  the  cold  dignity  that  had  marked  her 
bearing  since  her  entrance  into  the  ball-room,  and 
sought  to  win  him  to  her  side  by  the  flashing 
brilliancy  of  her  manners ;  but  her  efforts  were 
unavailing.  Clinton  had  felt  th»  sweeter,  purer, 
stronger  attractions  of  one  free  from  all  artifice ; 
and  when  he  left  her  side,  he  had  no  wish  to  pass 
to  that  of  one  whose  coldness  had  repelled,  and 
whose  haughtiness  had  insulted  him. 

On  the  next  day,  when  Lizzy  called  upon  her 
friend,  she  found  her  in  a  very  unhappy  state  of 
mind.  As  to  the  ball  and  the  people  who  attend- 
ed, she  was  exceedingly  captious  in  ail  her  re- 
marks. When  Clinton  was  mentioned,  she  spoke 
of  him  with  a  sneer.  Lizzy  hardly  knew  how  to 
take  her.  Why  the  young  man  should  be  so  of- 
fensive, she  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine,  and  honestly 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  been  mis- 
taken in  her  previous  supposition  that  Margaret 
really  felt  an  interest  in  him. 

A  few  evenings  only  elapsed  before  Clinton 
called  upon  Miss  Edgar,  and  from  that  time 
visited  her  regularly.  An  offer  of  marriage  was 
the  final  result.  This  offer  Lizzy  accepted. 


THE    FATAL    ERROR.  213 

The  five  or  six  months  that  elapsed  from  the 
time  Clinton  became  particular  in  his  attentions 
to  Miss  Edgar,  until  he  formally  declared  himself 
a  lover,  passed  with  Margaret  Herbert  in  one  long- 
continued  and  wild  struggle  with  her  feelings. 
Conscious  of  her  error,  and  madly  conscious,  be- 
cause conviction  had  come  too  late,  she  wrestled 
vigorously,  but  in  vain,  with  a  passion  that,  but 
for  her  own  folly,  would  have  met  a  free  and  full 
return.  Lizzy  spoke  to  her  of  Clinton's  marked 
attentions,  but  did  not  know  how,  like  heavy  and 
painful  strokes,  every  word  she  uttered  fell  upon 
her  heart.  She  saw  that  Margaret  was  far  from 
being  happy,  and  often  tenderly  urged  her  to  tell 
the  cause,  but  little  dreamed  of  the  real  nature  of 
her  sufferings. 

At  last  Lizzy  told  her,  with  a  glowing  cheek, 
that  Clinton  had  owned  his  love  for  her,  and  claim- 
ed her  hand  in  marriage.  For  some  moments  af- 
ter this  communication  was  made,  Margaret  could 
offer  no  reply.  Her  heart  trembled  faintly  in  her 
bosom  and  almost  ^ceased  to  beat;  but  she  rallied 
herself,  and  concealed  what  she  felt  under  warm 
congratulations.  Lizzy  was  deceived,  though  in 
her  friend's  manner  there  was  something  that  she 
could  not  fully  comprehend. 


2 1  I  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  You  must  be  my  bridesmaid,"  said  the  happy 
girl,  a  month  or  two  afterwards. 

"  Why  not  choose  some  one  else  ?"  asked  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Because  I  love  you  better  than  any  friend  I 
have,"  replied  Lizzy,  putting  an  arm  around  the 
neck  of  Margaret  and  kissing  her. 

"  No,  no ;  I  cannot — I  cannot !"  was  the  unex- 
pressed thought  of  Margaret — while  something 
like  a  shudder  went  over  her.  But  the  eyes  of 
her  "friend  did  not  penetrate  the  sad  secret  of 
her  heart. 

"  Come,  dear,  say  yes.  "Why  do  you  hesitate  ? 
I  would  hardly  believe  myself  married  if  you 
were  not  by  my  side  when  the  nuptial  pledge  was 
given." 

"  It  -shall  be  as  you  wish,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Perhaps  you  misunderstood  me,"  said  Lizzy, 
playfully ;  "I  was  not  speaking  of  my  funeral,  but 
of  my  wedding." 

This  sportive  sally  gave  Margaret  an  opportu- 
nity to  recover  herself,  which  she  did  promptly ; 
and  never  once,  from  that  time  until  the  wedding 
day  of  her  friend  arrived,  did  she  by  look  or  word 
betray  what  was  in  her  heart. 

Intense  was  the  struggle  that  went  on  in  the 


THE    FATAL    FRROR.  215 

mind  of  Margaret  Hubert.  But  it  was  of  no  avail ; 
she  loved  Clinton  with  a  wild  intensity  that  was 
only  the  more  fervid  from  its  hopelessness.  But 
pride  and  a  determined  will  concealed  what  nei- 
ther could  destroy. 

At  last  the  wedding  night  of  Lizzy  Edgar  ar- 
rived, and  a  large  company  assembled  to  witness 
the  holy  rite  that  was  to  be  performed,  and  to  cele- 
brate the  occasion  with  appropriate  festivities. 
M  argaret,  when  the  morning  of  that  day  broke 
coldly  and  drearily  upon  her,  felt  so  sad  at  heart 
that  she  wept,  and,  weeping,  wished  that  she  could 
die.  There  bad  been  full  time  for  reflection  since, 
by  her  own  acts,  she  had  repulsed  one  in  whom 
her  heart  felt  a  deep  interest,  and  repulsed  him 
with  such  imprudent  force  that  he  never  returned 
to  her  again.  Suffering  had  chastened  her  spirit, 
although  it  could  not  still  the  throbbings  of  pain. 
As  the  time  approached  when  she  must  stand  be- 
side her  friend  and  listen  to  vows  of  perpetual 
love  that  she  would  have  given  all  the  world, 
were  it  in  her  possession,  to  hear  as  her  own,  she 
felt  that  she  was  about  entering  upon  a  trial  for 
which  her  strength  would  be  little  more  than  ad- 
equate. 

But  there  was  no  retreat  ncfw.  The  ordeal  had 


216  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

to  be  passed  through.  At  last  the  time  of  trial 
came,  and  she  descended  with  her  friend,  and 
stood  up  with  her  before  the  minister  of  God,  who 
was  to  say  the  fitting  words  and  receive  the  sol 
emn  vows  required  in  the  marriage  covenant 
From  the  time  Margaret  took  her  place  on  the 
floor,  she  felt  her  power  over  herself  failing. 
Most  earnestly  did  she  struggle  for  calmness  and 
self-control,  but  the  very  fear  that  inspired  this 
struggle  made  it  ineffectual.  When  the  minister 
in  a  deeply  impressive  voice,  said,  "  I  pronounce 
you  husband  and  wife,"  her  eyes  grew  dim,  and 
her  limbs  trembled  and  failed ;  she  sunk  forward, 
and  was  only  kept  from  falling  by  the  arm  of  the 

minister,  which  was  extended  in  time  to  save  her- 

******* 

Twenty  years  have  passed  since  that  unhappy 
evening,  and  Margaret  Hubert  is  yet  unmarried. 
It  was  long  before  she  could  quench  the  fire  that 
had  burned  so  fiercely  in  her  heart.  When  it  did 
go  out,  the  desolate  hearth  it  left  remained  ever 
after  cold  and  dark. 


FOLLOWINGTHE  FASHIONS. 


"  WHAT  is  this  ?"  asked  Henry  Grove  of  his 
sister  Mary,  lifting,  as  he  spoke,  a  print  from  the 
centre- table. 

"  A  fashion  plate,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  A  fashion  plate  ?    What  in  the  name  of  won 
der,  are  you  doing  with  a  fashion  plate  ?" 

"  To  see  what  the  fashions  are." 

"  And  what  thentf" 

"  To  follow  them,  of  course," 

"  Mary,  is  it  possible  you  are  so  weak  ?  I 
thought  better  of  my  sister." 

"  Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Censor,"  replied  Mary 
10 


218  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

with  an  arch  look,  and  a  manner  perfectly  self- 


"  There  is  nothing  I  despise  so  much  as  a  heart- 
less woman  of  fashion." 

"  Such  an  individual  is  certainly,  not  much  to  be 
admired,  Henry.  But  there  is  a  vast  difference 
you  must  recollect,  between  a  lady  who  regards 
the  prevailing  mode  of  dress  and  a  heartless  wo- 
man, be  she  attired  in  the  latest  style,  or  in  the 
costume  of  the  times  of  good  queen  Bess.  A 
fashionably  dressed  woman  need  not,  of  necessity, 
be  heartless." 

"  0  no,  of  course  not ;  nor  did  I  mean  to  say  so. 
But  it  is  very  certain,  to  my  mind,  that  any  one 
who  follows  the  fashions  cannot  be  very  sound  in 
the  head.  And  where  there  is  not  much  head,  it 
seems  to  me  there  is  never  a  superabundance  of 
heart." 

"  Quite  a  philosopher  1" 

"You  needn't  try  to  beat  me  off  by  ridicnlet 
Mary.  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  What  about  ?" 

"  In  condemning  this  blind  slavery  to  fash- 
:on." 

"  You  follow  the  fashions." 

'  No,  Mary,  I  do  not." 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  219 

"  Your  looks  very  much   belie  you,  then." 
«  Mary !" 

"  Nonsense  !  Don't  look  so  grave.  "What  I 
eay  is  true.  You  follow  the  fashion  as  much  as 
I  do." 

"  I  am  sure  I  never  examined  a  plate  of  .fash- 
ions in  my  life." 

"  If  you  have  not,  your  tailor  has  for  you,  many 
a  time." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  don't  have  my 
clothes  cut  in  the  height  of  the  fashion.  They.are 
made  plain  and  comfortable.  There  is  nothing 
about  them  that  is  put  on  merely  because  it  is 
fashionable." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 
"  It  is  a  fact" 

"  Why  do  you  have  your  lappels  made  to  roll 
three  button-holes  instead  of  two.  There's  father's 
old  coat,  made,  I  don't  know  when,  that  roll  but 
two/' 

"  Because,  I  suppose,  its  now  the  fash " 

"  Ah,  exactly !    Didn't  I  get  you  there  nicely  ?'» 
"  No.  but  Mary,  that's  the  tailor's  business,  not 
mine." 

"Of  course, — you  trust  to  him  to  make  you 
clothes  according  to  the  fashion,  while  I  choose  to 


220  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

see  if  the  fashions  are  just  such  as  suits  my  stature, 
shape,  and  complexion,  that  I  may  adopt  them  full- 
ly,  or  deviate  from  them  in  a  just  and  rational 
manner.  So  there  is  this  difference  between  us ; 
you  follow  the  fashions  blindly,  and  I  with  judg- 
ment, and  discrimination !" 

"  Indeed,  Mary,  you  are  too  bad." 

"  Do  I  speak  anything  but  the  truth  ?" 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry,  indeed,  if  your  deduc- 
tions were  true  in  regard  to  my  following  the  fash- 
ions so  blindly,  if  indeed  at  all." 

"  But  don't  you  follow  them  ?" 

"  I  never  think  about  them." 

"  If  you  don't,  somehow  or  other,  you  manage 
to  be  always  about  even  with  the  prevailing 
modes.  I  don't  see  any  difference  between  your 
dress  and  that  of  other  young  men." 

"  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  the  fashions,  Mary  1"  re- 
joined Henry,  speaking  with  some  warmth. 

"  So  you  say." 

"  And  so  I  mean." 

"  Then  why  do  you  wear  fashionable  clothes  ?" 

"I  don't  wear  fashionable   ciothes — that  is — 


"  You  have  figured  eilk  or  cut  velvet  buttons,  on 
your  coat,  I  believe.     Let  me  see  ?    Yes.    Now, 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  221 

lasting  buttons  are  more  durable,  and  I  remem- 
ber very  well  when  you  wore  them.  But  they 
are  out  of  fashion !  And  here  is  your  collar  turn- 
ed down  over  your  black  satin  stock,  (where,  by 
the  by,  have  all  the  white  cravats  gone,  that  were 
a  few  years  ago  so  fashionable  ?)  as  smooth  as  a 
puritan's  !  Don't  you  remember  how  much  trou- 
ble you  used  to  have,  sometimes,  to  get  your  col- 
lar to  stand  up  just  so  ?  Ah,  brother,  you  are  an 
incorrigible  follower  of  the  fashions !" 

"  But,  Mary,  it  is  a  great  deal  less  trouble  to 
turn  the  collar  over  the  stock." 

"  I  know  it  is,  now  that  it  is  fashionable  to  do 

80." 

"  It  is,  though,  in  fact." 

"Eeally?" 

"  Yes,  really." 

"  But  when  it  was  fashionable  to  have  the  col- 
lar standing,  you  were  very  willing  to  take  the 
trouble." 

"  You  would  not  4iave  me  affect  singularity, 
sister?" 

"  Me  ?  No,  indeed  1  I  would  have  you  con 
tinue  to  follow  the  fashions  as  you  are  now  do- 
ing. I  would  have  you  dress  like  other  people. 


222  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

And  there  is  one  other  thing  that  I  would  like  to 
see  in  you." 

"  What  is  that." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  willing  to  allow  me 
the  same  privilege." 

"  You  have  managed  your  case  so  ingeniously, 
Mary,"  her  brother  now  said,  "  as  to  have  beaten 
me  in  argument,  though  I  am  very  sure  that  I  am 
right,  and  you  in  error,  in  regard  to  the  general 
principle.  I  hold  it  to  be  morally  wrong  to  fol- 
low the  fashions.  They  are  unreasonable  and  ar- 
bitrary in  their  requirements,  and  it  is  a  species 
of  miserable  folly,  to  be  led  about  by  them.  I 
have  conversed  a  good  deal  with  old  aunt  Abigail 
on  the  subject,  and  she  perfectly  agrees  with  me. 
Her  opinions,  you  can  not,  of  course,  treat  with 
indifference  ?" 

"  No,  not  my  aunt's.  But  for  all  that,  I  do  not 
think  that  either  she  or  uncle  Absalom  is  perfect- 
ly orthodox  on  all  matters." 

"  I  think  that  they  can  both  prove  to  you  be. 
yond  a  doubt  that  it  is  a  most  egregious  folly  to 
be  ever  changing  with  the  fashions." 

"  And  I  think  that  I  can  prove  to  them  that 
they  are  not  at  all  uninfluenced  by  the  fickle  god 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  223 

"  Do  so,  and  I  will  give  up  the  point  Do  so 
and  I  will  avow  myself  an  advocate  of  fashion." 

"  As  you  are  now  in  fact.  But  I  accept  your 
challenge,  even  though  the  odds  of  age  and  num- 
bers are  against  me.  I  am  very  much  mistaken, 
indeed,  if  I  cannot  maintain  my  side  of  the  argu- 
ment, at  least  to  my  own  satisfaction." 

'  You  may  do  that  probably ;  but  certainly  not 
to  ours." 

"  We  will  see,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

It  was  a  few  evenings  after,  that  Henry  Grove 
and  his  sister  called  in  to  see  uncle  Absalom  and 
aunt  Abigail,  who  were  of  the  old  school,  and 
rather  ultra-puritanical  in  their  habits  and  no- 
tions. Mary  could  not  but  feel,  as  she  came  in- 
to their  presence,  that  it  would  be  rowing  against 
wind  and  tide  to  maintain  her  point  with  them — 
confirmed  as  they  were  in  their  own  views  of 
things,  and  with  the  respect  due  to  age  to  give 
weight  to  their  opinions.  Nevertheless,  she  de- 
termined resolutely  to  maintain  her  own  side  of 
the  question,  and  to  use  all  the  weapons,  offensive 
and  defensive,  that  came  to  her  hand.  She  was 
a  light-hearted  girl,  with  a  high  flow  of  spirits, 
and  a  quick  and  discriminating  mind.  All  these 
were  in  her  favor.  ..The  contest  was  not  long  de- 


224  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

layed,  for  Henry,  feeling 'that  he  had  powerful 
auxiliaries  on  his  side,  was  eager  to  see  his  own 
positions  triumph,  as  he  was  sure  that  they  must. 
The  welcome  words  that  greeted  their  entrance 
had  not  long  been  said,  before  he  asked,  turning 
to  his  aunt, — 

"  What  do  you  think  I  found  on  Mary's  table, 
the  other  day,  Aunt  Abigail  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Henry.     What  was  it  ?" 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear, — a  fashion 
plate!  And  that  is  not  all.  By  her  own  con- 
fession, she  was  studying  it  in  order  to  conform 
to  the  prevailing  style  of  dress.  Hadn't  you  a 
better  opinion  of  her  ?" 

"  I  certainly  had,"  was  aunt  Abigail's  half  smi- 
ling, half  grave  reply. 

"  Why,  what  harm  is  there  in  following  the 
fashions,  aunt?"  Mary  asked. 

"  A  great  deal,  my  dear.  It  is  following  after 
the  vanities  of  this  life.  The  apostle  tells  us  not 
to  be  conformed  to  this  world." 

"  I  know  he  does  ;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with 
the  fashions  ?  He  doesn't  say  that  you  shall  not 
wear  fashionable  garments ;  at  least  I  never  saw 
the  passage." 

"  But  that  is  clearly  what  he  means,  Mary." 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  225 

"I  doubt  it.  Let  us  hear  what  he  further 
says ;  perhaps  that  will  guide  us  to  a  truer  mean- 
ing?" 

"  He  says :  '  But  be  ye  transformed  by  the 
renewing  of  your  minds.'  That  elucidates  and 
gives  force  to  what  goes  before." 

"  So  I  think,  clearly  upsetting  your  position. 
The  apostle  evidently  has  reference  to  a  deeper 
work  than  mere  external  non-conformity  in  regard 
to  the  cut  of  the  coat,  or  the  fashion  of  the  dress. 
Be  ye  not  conformed  to  this  world  in  its  selfish, 
principles  and  maxims — be  ye  not  as  the  world, 
lovers  of  self  more  than  lovers  of  God — but  be  ye 
transformed  by  the  renewing  of  your  minds.  That 
is  the  way  I  understand  him." 

"  Then  you  understand  him  wrong,  Mary," 
uncle  Absalom  spoke  up.  "  If  he  had  meant 
that,  he  would  have  said  it  in  plain  terms." 

"  And  so  he  has,  it  seems  to  me.  But  I  am 
not  disposed  to  excuse  my*  adherence  to  fashion 
upon  any  passage  that  allows  of  two  interpreta- 
tions. I  argue  for  it  upon  rational  grounds." 

"  Fashion  and  rationality !  The  idea  is  absurd, 
Mary  1"  said   uncle   Absalom,     with    warmth- 
M  They  are  antipodes." 
10* 


226  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

".  Not  by  any  means,  uncle,  and  I  think  I  can 
make  it  plain  to  you." 

TJncle  Absalom  shook  his  head,  and  aunt  Abi- 
gail fidgeted  in  her  chair. 

"  You  remember  the  celebrated  John  "Wesley — 
the  founder  of  that  once  unfashionable  people, 
the  Methodists  ?"  Mary  ,asked. 

"  0,  yes." 

"  What  would  you  think  ;f  I  proved  to  you 
that  he  was  an  advocate  for  fashion  upon  ration- 
al principles  ?" 

"  You  can't  do  it." 

"  I  can.  On  one  occasion,  it  is  related  of  him, 
that  he  called  upon  a  tailor  to  make  him  a  coat. 
'  How  will  you  have  it  made  ?'  asked  the  tailor. 
1  0,  make  it  like  other  people's,'  was  the  reply. 
'  Will  you  have  the  sleeves  in  the  new  fashion  ?' 
'  I  don't  know,  what  is  it  ?'  '  They  have  been 
made  very  tight,  you  know,  for  some  time,'  the 
tailor  said,  '  but  the  newest  fashion  is  loose 
sleeves.'  '  Loose  sleeves,  ah  ?  Well,  they  will 
be  a  great  deal  more  comfortable  than  these. 
Make  mine  loose.'  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
uncle  ?  Do  you  see  no  rationality  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  Mary,"  replied  aunt  Abigail,  "  fash- 
ion  and  comfort  hardly  ever  go  together." 

f 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  227 

•''  There  you  are  mistaken,  aunt.  Most  fash- 
ionable dress-makers  aim  at  producing  garments 
comfortable  to  the  wearers ;  and  those  fashions 
which  are  most  comfortable,  are  most  readily 
adopted  by  the  largest  numbers." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  pretend  to  say,  Mary," 
Henry  interposed,  "  that  all  changes  in  fashions 
are  improvements  in  comfort  ?" 

"  0  no,  certainly  not.  Many,  nay,  most  of  the 
changes  are  unimportant  in  that  respect." 

"  And  are  the  inventions  and  whims  of  fashion 
makers,"  added  aunt  Abigail  with  warmth. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  Mary  readily  admitted. 

"  And  you  are  such  a  weak,  foolish  girl,  as  to 
adopt,  eagerly,  every  trifling  variation  in  fash- 
ion ?"  continued  aunt  Abigail. 

"  No,  not  eagerly,  aunt." 

"  But  at  all  ?" 

"  I  adopt  a  great  many,  certainly,  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  they  5re  fashionable." 

"  For  shame,  Mary,  to  make  auch  an  admission  1 
I  really  thought  better  of  you." 

"  But  don't  you  follow  the  fashions,  aunt  ?" 

"  Why  Mary,"  exclaimed  both  uncle  Absalom 
and  her  brother,  at  once. 

"Me  follow  the  fashions,    Mary?"    broke  in 


228  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

aunt  Abigail,  as  soon  as  she  could  recover  her 
breath,  for  the  question  struck  her  almost  speech- 
less. "  Me  follow  the  fashions  ?  Why,  what  can 
the  girl  mean  ?" 

"  I  asked  the  question,"  said  Mary.  "  And  if 
you  can't  answer  it,  I  can." 

"  And  how  will  you  answer  it,  pray  ?" 

"  In  the  affirmative,  of  course." 

"  You  are  trifling,  now,  Mary,"  said  uncle  Ab- 
salom, gravely. 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,  uncle.  I  can  prove  to  her 
satisfaction  and  yours,  too,  that  aunt  Abigail  is 
almost  as  much  a  follower  of  the  fashions  as  I 
am." 

"  For  shame,  child  1" 

"  I  can  though,  uncle ;  so  prepare  yourself  to 
be  convinced.  Did  you  never  see  aunt  wear  a 
different  shaped  cap  from  the  one  she  now  has 
on?" 

"  0  yes,  1  suppose  so.  I  don't  take  much  no- 
tice of  such  things.  But  I  believe  she  has 
changed  the  pattern  of  her  cap  a  good  many 
times." 

"  And  what  if  I  have,  pray  ?"  asked  aunt  Abi- 
gail, fidgeting  uneasily. 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  229 

"  0,  nothing,  only  that  in  doing  so,  you  were 
following  some  new  fashion,"  replied  Mary. 

"  It  is  no  such  thing  1"  said  aunt  Abigail 

"  I  can  prove  it" 

"  You  can't." 

"  Yes  I  can,  and  I  will.  Don't  you  remember 
when  the  high  crowns  were  worn  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  And  you  wore  them,  of  course." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  did  ?" 

"  And  then  came  the  close,  low-crowned  cap. 
I  remember  the  very  time  you  adopted  that  fash 
ion,  and  thought  it  so  much  more  becoming  than 
the  great  tower  of  lace  on  the  back  part  of  the 
head." 

"  And  so  it  was." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  think  so  before,"  asked 
Mary,  looking  archly  into  the  face  of  her  aunt. 

"  Why — because — because — " 

"  0, 1  can  tell  you,  so  ^ou  needn't  search  all 
over  the  world  for  a  reason.  It  was  because  the 
high  crowns  were  fashionable.  Come  out  plain 
and  aboveboard  and  say  so." 

"  Indeed,  I  won't  say  any  such  thing." 

"  Then  what  was  the  reason  ?" 

"  Every  body  wore  them,  and  their  unsightly 

t 


230  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

appearance  had  not  been  made  apparent  by  con- 
trast." 

"  Exactly  1  They  were  fashionable.  But  when 
a  new  fashion  laughed  them  out  of  countenance, 
you  cast  them  aside,  as  I  do  an  old  fashion  for  a 
new  one.  Then  came  the  quilled  border  all 
around.  Do  you  remember  that  change  ?  and 
how,  in  a  little  while  after,  the  plain  piece  of 
lace  over  your  forehead  disappeared  ?  Why  was 
that,  aunt  Abigail  ?  "Was  there  no  regard  for 
fashion  there  ?  And  now,  at  this  very  time  your 
cap  is  one  that  exhibits  the  latest  acd  neatest 
style  for  old  ladies'  caps.  I  could  go  on  and 
prove  to  your  satisfaction,  or  at  least  to  my  own, 
that  you  have  followed  the  fashion  almost  as 
steadily  as  I  have.  But  I  have  sufficiently  made 
out  my  case.  Don't  you  think  so,  Henry  ?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  her  brother,  who  had  been 
surprised  at  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken, 
not  expecting  to  see  Mary  carry  the  war  home  so 
directly  as  she  had  done,  hardly  knew  how  to  re- 
ply. He,  however,  gave  a  reluctant 

"  Yes." 

"  But  there  is  some  sense  in  your  aunt's  adop- 
tion of  fashion,"  said  uncle  Absalom. 

"  Though  not  much,  it  would  seem  in  yours, 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  231 

if  you  estimate  fashion  by  use,"  retorted  Mary. 

"  "What  does  the  girl  mean  ?"  asked  aunt  Abi- 
gail in  surprise. 

"  Of  what  use,  uncle,  are  those  two  buttons  on 
the  back  of  your  coat  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  Then  why  do  you  wear  them  if  you  don't 
know  their  use,  unless  it  be  that  you  wish  to  be 
in  the  fashion  ?  Then  there  are  two  more  at  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt,  half  hid,  half  seen,  as  if  they 
were  ashamed  to  be  found  so  much  out  of  their 
place.  Then,  can  you  enlighfen  me  as  to  the  use 
of  these  two  pieces  of  cloth  here,  called,  I  believe, 
flaps  ?" 

"  To  give  strength  to  that  part  of  the  coat,  I 
presume." 

"  And  yet  it  is  only  a  year  or  two  since  it  was 
the  fashion  to  have  no  flaps  at  all  I  do  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  seen  a  coat  torn  there,  do 
you  ?  It  is  no  use,  uncl#— you  might  as  well  be 
out  of  the  world  as  out  of  the  fashion.  And  old 
people  feel  this  as  well  as  young.  They  have 
their  fashions,  and  we  have  ours,  and  they  are  as 
much  the  votaries  of  their  peculiar  modes  as  we 
are  of  our.  The  only  difference  is,  that,  as  our 
states  of  mind  change  more  rapidly,  there  is  a 


232  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

corresponding  and  more  rapid  change  in  our  fash 
ions.     You  change  as  well  as  we  do — but  slower.' 


"  How  could  you  talk  to  uncle  Absalom  and 
aunt  Abigail  as  you  did  ?"  said  Henry  Grove  to 
his  sister,  as  they  walked  slowly  home  together. 

"  Didn't  I  make  out  my  point  ?  Didn't  I  prove 
that  they  too  were  votaries  of  the  fickle  god- 
dess ?" 

"  I  think  you  did,  in  a  measnre." 

"And  in  a  good  measure  too.  So  give  up 
your  point,  as  you  promised,  and  confess  your- 
self an  advocate  of  fashion." 

"  I  don't  see  clearly  how  I  can  do  that,  not 
withstanding  all  that  has  passed  to-night ;  for  I 
do  not  rationally  perceive  the  use  of  all  these 
ahanges  in  dress." 

"  I  am  not  certain  that  I  can  enlighten  you 
fully  on  the  subject ;  but  think  that  I  may,  per- 
haps in  a  degree,  if  you  will  allow  my  views 
their  proper  weight  in  your  mind." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so  ;  but  shall  not  promise  to 
be  convinced." 

"  No  matter.  Convinced  or  not  convinced 
you  will  still  be  arried  aiong  .  y  the  current. 


FOLLOWING   THE   FASHIONS.  233 

As  to  the  primary  cause  of  the  change  in  fashion 
it  strikes  me  that  it  is  one  of  the  visible  effects  of 
that  process  of  change  ever  going  on  in  the  hu- 
man mind.  The  fashion  of  dress  that  prevails 
may  not  be  the  true  exponent  of  the  internal  and 
invisible  states,  because  they  must  necessarily  be 
modified  in  various  ways  by  the  interests  and 
false  tastes  of  such  individuals  as  promulgate 
them.  Still,  this  does  not  affect  the  primary 
cause." 

"  Granting  your  position  to  be  true,  Mary, 
which  I  am  not  fully  prepared  to  admit  or  deny 
—  why  should  we  blindly  follow  these  fash- 
ions?" 

"We  need  not  blindly.  For  my  part,  I  am  sure 
that  I  do  not  blindly  follow  them." 

'"  You  do  when  you  adopt  a  fashion  without 
thinking  it  becoming." 

"  That  I  never  do." 

"  But,  surely,  you  do  not  pretend  to  say  that 
all  fashions  are  becoming  ?" 

"All  that  prevail  to  any  extent,  appear  so, 
during  the  time  of  their  prevalence,  unless  they 
involve  an  improper  exposure  of  the  person,  or  are 
injurious  to  health." 

"  That  is  singular." 


234  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  But  is  it  not  true." 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  But  how  do  you  account  fqj? 
it?" 

On  the  principle  that  there  are  both  external 
and  internal  causes  at  work,  modifying  the  mind's 
perceptions  of  the  appropriate  and  beautiful." 

"  Mostly  external,  I  should  think,  such  as  a  de- 
sire to  be  in  the  fashion,  etc." 

"  That  feeling  has  its  influence  no  doubt,  and 
operates  very  strongly." 

"  But  is  it  a  right  feeling  ?" 

"  It  is  right  or  wrong,  according  to  the  end  in 
view.  If  fashion  be  followed  from  no  higher 
view  than  a  selfish  love  of  being  admired,  then 
the  feeling  is  wrong." 

"  Can  we  follow  fashion  with  any  other  end  ?" 

"  Answer  the  question  yourself.  You  follow 
the  fashions." 

"  I  think  but  little  about  them,  Mary." 

"  And  yet  you  dress  very  much  like  people 
who  do." 

"That  may  be  so.  The  reason  is,  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  singular." 

"Why?" 

"For  this  reason.  A  man  who  affects  any 
singularity  of  dress  or  manners,  loses  his  true  in- 


FOLLOWING    THE    FASHIONS.  235 

fluence  in  society.  People  begin  to  think  that 
there  must  be  within,  a  mind  not  truly  balanced 
and  therefore  do  not  suffer  his  opinions,  no  mat- 
ter how  sound,  to  have  their  true  weight." 

"  A  very  strong  and  just  argument  why  wo 
should  adopt  prevailing  usages  and  fashions,  if 
not  immoral  or  injurious  to  health.  They  are  the 
badges  by  which  we  are  known — diplomas  which 
give  to  our  opinions  their  legitimate  value.  I 
could  present  this  subject  in  many  other  points 
of  view.  But  it  would  be  of  little  avail,  if  you 
are  determined  not  to  be  convinced." 

"  I  am  not  so  determined,  Mary.  What  you 
have  already  said,  greatly  modifies  my  view  of 
the  subject.  I  shall,  at  least,  not  ridicule  your 
adherence  to  fashion,  if  I  do  not  give  much 
thought  to  it  myself." 

"  I  will  present  one  more  view.  A  right  atten- 
tion to  dress  looks  to  the  development  of  that 
which  is  appropriate  and  beautiful  to  the  eye. 
This  is  a  universal  benefit.  For  no  one  can  look 
upon  a  truly  beautiful  object  in  nature  or  art 
without  having  his  mind  correspondingly  elevated 
and  impressed  with  beautiful  images,  and  these 
do  not  pass  away  like  spectrums,  but  remain  ever 
after  more  or  less  distinct,  bearing  with  them  an 


236  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

elevating  influence  upon  the  whole  charactei 
Changes  in  fashion,  so  far  as  they  present  new 
and  beautiful  forms,  new  arrangements,  and  new 
and  appropriate  combination  of  colors,  are  the 
dictates  of  a  true  taste,  and  so  far  do  they  tend  to 
benefit  society." 

"  But  fashion  is  not  always  so  directed  by  true 
taste." 

"  A  just  remark.  And  likewise  a  reason  why  all 
who  have  a  right  appreciation  of  the  truly  beau- 
tiful should  give  some  attention  to  the  prevail- 
ing fashion  in  dress,  and  endeavor  to  correct  er- 
rors, and  develop  the* true  and  the  beautiful  here 
as  in  other  branches  of  art." 


A  DOLLAR  ON  THE  CONSCIENCE. 


"  FIFTY-FIVE  cents  a  yard,  I  believe  you  said  ?" 
The  customer  was  opening  her  purse. 

Now  fifty  cents  a  yard  was  the  price  of  the 
goods,  and  so  Mr.  Levering  had  informed  the 
lady.  She  misunderstood  him,  however. 

In  the  community,  Mr.  Levering  had  the  rep- 
utation of  being  a  conscientious,  high-minded 
man.  He  knew  that  he  was  thus  estimated,  and 
self-complacently  appropriated  the  good  opinion 
as  clearly  his  due. 

It  came  instantly  to  the  lip  of  Mr.  Levering  to 
say,  "  Yes,  fifty -five."  The  love  of  gain  was 
strong  in  his  mind,  and  ever  ready  to  accede  to 


238  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

new  plans  for  adding  dollar  to  dollar.  But,  ere 
the  words  were  uttered,  a  disturbing  perception 
of  something  wrong  restrained  him. 

"  I  wish  twenty  yards,"  said  the  customer 
taking  it  for  granted  that  fifty-five  cents  was  the 
price  of  the  goods. 

Mr.  Levering  was  still  silent;  though  he  com- 
menced promptly  to  measure  off  the  goods. 

"  Not  dear  at  that  price,"  remarked  the  lady. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  storekeeper.  "  I  bought 
the  case  of  goods  from  which  this  piece  was  taken 
very  low." 

"  Twenty  yards  at  fifty-five  cents  !  Just  eleven 
dollars."  The  customer  opened  her  purse  as  she 
thus  spoke,  and  counted  out  the  sum  in  glittering 
gold  dollars.  "  That  is  right,  I  believe,"  and  she 
pushed  the  money  towards  Mr.  Levering,  who, 
with  a  kind  of  automatic  movement  of  his  hand, 
drew  forward  the  coin  and  swept  it  into  nis  till. 

"  Send  the  bundle  to  No.  300  Argyle  Street," 
said  the  lady,  with  a  bland  smile,  as  she  turned 
from  the  counter,  and  the  half-bewildered  store- 
keeper. 

"Stay,  madam!  there  is  a  slight  mistake!" 
The  words  were  in  Mr.  Levering's  thoughts,  and 
on  the  point  of  gaining  utterance,  but  he  had  not 


A  DOLLAR  ON  THE  CONSCIENCE.      239 

the  courage  to  speak.  He  had  gained  a  dollar  in 
the  transaction  beyond  his  due,  and  already  it 
was  lying  heavily  on  his  conscience.  "Willingly 
would  he  have  thrown  it  off ;  but  when  'about  to 
do  so,  the  quick  suggestion  came,  that,  in  ac- 
knowledging to  the  lady  the  fact  of  her  having 
paid  five  cents  a  yard  too  much,  he  might  falter  in 
his  explanation,  and  thus  betray  his  attempt  to  do 
her  wrong.  And  so  he  kept  silence,  and  let  her 
depart  beyond  recall. 

Any  thing  gained  at  the  price  of  virtuous  self- 
respect  is  acquired  at  too  large  a  cost.  A  single 
dollar  on  the  conscience  may  press  so  heavily  as 
to  bear  down  a  man's  spirits,  and  rob  him  of  all 
the  delights  of  life.  It  was  so  in  the  present  case. 
Vain  was  it  that  Mr.  Levering  sought  self  justi- 
fication. Argue  the  matter  as  he  would,  he  found 
it  impossible  to  escape  the  smarting  conviction 
that  he  had  unjustly  exacted  a  dollar  from  one  of 
his  customers.  Many  times  through  the  day  he 
found  himself  in  a  musing,  abstracted  state,  and 
on  rousing  himself  therefrom,  became  conscious, 
in  his  external  thought,  that  it  was  the  dollar  by 
which  he  was  troubled. 

14  I'm  very  foolish,"  said  he,  mentally,  as  he 
walked  homeward,  after  closing  his  store  for  the 


240  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

evening.  "  Very  foolish  to  worry  myself  about  a 
trifle  like  this.  The  goods  were  cheap  enough  at 
fifty-five,  and  she  is  quite  as  well  contented  with 
her  bargain  as  if  she  had  paid  only  fifty." 

But  it  would  not  -do.  The  dollar  was  on  his 
conscience,  and  he  sought  in  vain  to  remove  it  by 
efforts  of  this  kind. 

Mr.  Levering  had  a  wife  and  three  pleasant 
children.  They  were  the  sunlight  of  his  home. 
When  the  business  of  the  day  was  over,  he  usually 
returned  to  his  own  fireside  with  buoyant  feeling. 
It  was  not  so  on  this  occasion.  There  was  a 
pressure  on  his  bosom — a  sense  of  discomfort — a 
want  of  self-satisfaction.  The  kise  of  his  wife,  and 
the  clinging  arms  of  his  children,  as  they  were 
twined  around  hia  neck,  did  not  bring  the  old 
delight. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  this  evening, 
dear  ?  Are  you  not  well  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Lev- 
ering, breaking  in  upon  the  thoughtful  mood  of 
her  husband,  as  he  sat  in  unwonted  silence. 

"  I'm  perfectly  well,"  he  replied,  rousing  him' 
self,  and  forcing  a  smile. 

"  You  look  sober." 

"  Do  I  ?"     Another  forced  smile. 

"  Something  troubles  you,  I'm  afraid." 


A   DOLLAR    O*    THE    CONSCIENCE.  241 

"  0  no ;  it's  all  in  your.imagination." 

"  Are  you  sick,  papa  ?"  now  asks  a  bright  little 
fellow,  clambering  upon  his  knee. 

"  Why  no,  love,  I'm  not  sick.  "Why  do  you 
think  so  ?" 

"  Because  you  don't  play  horses  with  me." 

"  Oh  dear  !  Is  that  the  ground  of  your  suspi- 
cion ?"  replied  the  father,  laughing.  "  Come  !  we'll 
soon  scatter  them  to  the  winds." 

And  Mr.  Levering  commenced  a  game  of 
romps  with  the  children.  But  he  tired  long  be- 
fore they  grew  weary,  nor  did  he,  from  the  be- 
ginning, enter  into  this  sport  with  his  usual  zest. 

"  Does  your  head  ache,  pa  ?"  inquired  the  child 
who  had  previously  suggested  sickness,  as  he  saw 
his  father  leave  the  floor,  and  seat  himself,  with 
Borne  gravity  of  manner,  on  a  chair. 

"  Not  this  evening,  dear,"  answered  Mr.  Lev- 
ering. 

"  Why  don't  you  play  longer,  then  ?" 

"  Oh  pa  1"  exclaimed  another  child,  speaking 
from  a  sudden  thought,  "  you  don't  know  what 
a  time  we  had  at  school  to-day." 

"  Ah !  what  was  the  cause  ?" 

"  Oh !  you'll  hardly  believe  it.  But  Eddy  Jonea 
stole  a  dollar  from  Maggy  Enfield  1" 
11 


242  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Stole  a  dollar  !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Levering.  His 
voice  was  husky,  and  he  felt  a  cold  thrill  passing 
along  every  nerve. 

"  Yes,  pa  1  he  stole  a  dollar  !  Oh,  wasn't  it 
dreadful  ?" 

"  Perhaps  he  was  wrongly  accused,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Levering. 

"  Emma  Wilson  saw  him  do  it,  and  they  found 
the  dollar  in  his  pocket.  Oh  !  he  looked  so  pale, 
and  it  made  me  almost  sick  to  hear  him  cry  as  if 
his  heart  would  break." 

"  What  did  they  do  with  him  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Levering. 

"  They  sent  for  his  mother,  and  she  took  him 
home.  Wasn't  it  dreadful  ?" 

"  It  must  have  been  dreadful  for  his  poor  mo- 
ther," Mr.  Levering  ventured  to  remark. 

"  But  more  dreadful  for  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lev- 
ering. "  Will  he  ever  forget  his  crime  and  dis- 
grace ?  Will  the  pressure  of  that  dollar  on  his 
conscience  ever  be  removed  ?  He  may  never  do 
so  wicked  an  act  again ;  but  the  memory  of  this 
wrong  deed  cannot  be  wholly  effaced  from  his 
mind." 

How  rebukingly  fell  all  these  words  on  the  ears 
of  Mr.  Levering.  Ah  1  what  would  he  not  then 


A    DOLLAR    ON    THE    CONSCIENCE.  245> 

have  given  to  have  the  weight  of  that  dollar  re- 
moved ?  Its  pressure  was  so  great  as  almost  to 
suffocate  him.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  he  tried  to 
be  cheerful,  or  to  take  an  interest  in  what  was 
passing  immediately  around  him.  The  innocent 
prattle  of  his  children  had  lost  its  wonted  charm, 
and  there  seemed  an  accusing  expression  in  the 
eye  of  his  wife,  as,  in  the  concern  his  changed 
aspect  had  occasioned,  she  looked  soberly  upon 
him.  Unable  to  bear  all  this,  Mr.  Levering  went 
out,  something  unusual  for  him,  and  walked  the 
streets  for  an  hour.  On  his  return,  the  children 
were  in  bed,  and  he  had  regained  sufficient  self- 
control  to  meet  his  wife  with  a  less  disturbed  ap- 
pearance. 4 

On  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Levering  felt  some- 
thing better.  Sleep  had  left  his  mind  more  tran- 
quil. Still  there  was  a  pressure  on  his  feelings, 
which  thought  could  trace  to  that  rfnlucky  dollar. 
About  an  hour  after  going  to  his  store,  Mr.  Lev- 
ering saw  his  customer  of  the  day  previous  enter, 
and  move  along  towards  the  place  where  he  stood 
behind  his  counter.  His  heart  gave  a  sudden 
bound,  and  the  color  rose  to  his  face.  An  accu- 
sing conscience  was  quick  to  conclude  as  to  the 
object  of  her  visit.  But  he  soon  saw  that  no  sus- 


244  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

picion  of  wrong  dealing  was  in  the  lady's  mind. 
With  a  pleasant  half  recognition,  she  asked  to 
look  at  certain  articles,  from  which  she  made  pur- 
chases, and  in  paying  for  them,  placed  a  ten  dol- 
lar bill  in  the  hand  of  the  storekeeper. 

"  That  weight  shall  be  off  my  conscience,"  said 
Mr.  Levering  to  himself,  as  he  began  counting 
out  the  change  due  his  customer;  and,  purposely, 
he  gave  her  one  dollar  more  than  was  justly  hers 
in  that  transaction.  The  lady  glanced  her  eyes 
over  the  money,  and  seemed  slightly  bewildered. 
Then,  much  to  the  storekeeper's  relief,  opened  her 
purse  and  dropped  it  therein. 

"  All  right  again  !"  was  the  mental  ejaculation 
of  Mr.  Levering,  as  he  saw  the  purse  disappear 
in  the  lady's  pocket,  while  his  breast  expanded 
with  a  sense  of  relief. 

The  customer  turned  from  the  counter,  and  had 
nearly  gained  the  door,  when  she  paused,  drew 
out  her  purse,  and  emptying  the  contents  of  one 
end  into  her  hand,  carefully  noted  the  amount. 
Then  walking  back,  she  said,  with  a  thoughtful 
air — 

"  I  think  you  Ve  made  a  mistake  in  the  change} 
Mr.  Levering." 


A  DOLLAR  ON  THE  CONSCIENCE.       245 

"  I  presume  not,  ma'am.  T  gave  you  four  and 
thirty-five,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"Four,  thirty-five,"  said  the  lady,  musingly. 

"  Yes,  here  is  just  four,  thirty-five." 

"  That 's  right ;  yes,  that 's  right,"  Mr.  Lever 
ing  spoke,  somewhat  nervously. 

"  The  article  came  to  six  dollars  and  sixty-five 
cents,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that  was  it  1"  * 

"  Then  three  dollars  and  thirty-five  cents  will 
be  my  right  change,"  said  the  lady,  placing  a  small 
gold  coin  on  the  counter.  "  You  gave  me  too 
much." 

The  customer  turned  away  and  retired  from 
the  store,  leaving  that  dollar  still  on  the  conscience 
of  Mr.  Levering. 

"  I'll  throw  it  into  the  street,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, impatiently.  ",0r  give  it  to  the  first  beggar 
that  comes  ajong." 

But  conscience  whispered  that  the  dollar  wasn't 
his,  either  to  give  away  or  to  throw  away.  Such' 
prodigality,  or  impulsive  benevolence,  would  be 
at  the  expense  of  another,  and  this  could  not  mend 
the  matter. 

"  This  is  all  squeamishness,"  said  Mr.  Levering 
trying  to  argue  against  his  convictions.  But  it 


246  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

was  of  no  avail.      His  convictions  remained  as 
clear  and  rebuking  as  ever. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  Mr.  Lever- 
ing went  to  church,  as  usual,  with  his  family. 
Scarcely  had  he  taken  a  seat  in  his  pew,  when, 
on  raising  his  eyes,  they  rested  on  the  countenance 
of  the  lady  from  whom  he  had  abstracted  the  dol- 
lar. How  quickly  his  cheek  flushed !  How  trou- 
bled became,  instantly,  the  beatings  of  his  heart ! 
Unhappy  Mr.  Levering  !  He  could  not  make  the 
usual  responses  that  day,  in  the  services ;  and 
when  the  congregation  joined  in  the  swelling  hymn 
of  praise,  his  voice  was  heard  not  in  the  general 
thanksgiving.  Scarcely  a  word  of  the  eloquent 
sermon  reached  his  ears,  except  something  about 
"  dishonest  dealing ;"  he  was  too  deeply  engaged 
in  discussing  the  question,  whether  or  no  he 
should  get  rid  of  the  troublesome  dollar  by  drop- 
ping it  into  the  contribution  box,  at  the  close 
of  the  morning  service,  to  listen  td  the  words  of  the 
preacher.  This  question  was  not  settled  when 
the  box  came  round,  but,  as  a  kind  of  desperate 
alternative,  he  cast  the  money  into  the  treasury. 

For  a  short  time,  Mr.  Levering  felt  consider- 
able relief  of  mind.  But  this  disposition  of  the 
money  proved  only  a  temporary  palliative.  There 


A  DOLLAR  UiN  THE  CONSCIENCE.  247 

was  a  pressure  on  his  feelings ;  still  a  weight  on 
his  conscience  that  gradually  became  heavier. 
Poor  man  !  "What  was  he  to  do  ?  How  was  he 
to  get  this  dollar  removed  from  his  conscience  ? 
He  could  not  send  it  back  to  the  lady  and  tell 
her  the  whole  truth.  Such  an  exposure  of  him- 
self would  not  only  be  humiliating,  but  hurtful 
to  his  character.  It  would  be  seeking  to  do  right, 
in  the  infliction  of  a  wrong  to  himself. 

At  last,  Mr.  Levering,  who  had  ascertained  the 
lady's  name  and  residence,  inclosed  her  a  dollar, 
anonymously,  stating  that  it  was  her  due ;  that 
the  writer  had  obtained  it  from  her,  unjustly,  in 
a  transaction  which  he  did  not  care  to  name,  and 
could  not  rest  until  he  had  made  restitution. 

Ah  !  the  humiliation  of  spirit  suffered  by  Mr. 
Levering  in  thus  seeking  to  get  ease  for  his  con- 
science 1  It  was  one  of  his  bitterest  life  experien- 
ces. The  longer  the  dollar  remained  in  his  pos- 
session, the  heavier  became  its  pressure,  until  he 
could  endure  it  no  longer.  He  felt  not  only  dis- 
graced in  his  own  eyes,  but  humbled  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  wife  and  children.  Not  for  worlds 
would  he  have  suffered  them  to  look  into  bis 
heart. 

If  a  simple  act  of  restitution  could  have  cover 


248  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

ed  all  the  past,  happy  would  it  have  been  for  Mr. 
Levering.  But  this  was  not  possible.  The  deed 
was  entered  in  the  book  of  his  life,  and  nothing 
could  efface  the  record.  Though  obscured  by  the 
accumulating  dust  of  time,  now  and  then  a  hand 
sweeps  unexpectedly  over  the  page,  and  the  wri- 
ting is  revealed.  Though  that  dollar  has  been 
removed  from  his  conscience,  and  he  is  now  guilt- 
less of  wrong,  yet  there  are  times  when  the  old 
pressure  is  felt  with  painful  distinctness. 

Earnest  seeker  after  this  world's  goods,  take 
warning  by  Mr.  Levering,  and  beware  how,  in  a 
moment  of  weak  yielding,  you  get  a  dollar  on 
your  concience.  One  of  two  evils  must  follow.  It 
will  give  you  pain  and  trouble,  or  make  callous 
the  spot  where  it  rests,  And  the  latter  of  these 
evils  is  that  which  is  most  to  be  deplored. 


AUNT  MAKY'S   SUGGESTION. 


"  JOHN  THOMAS  !"  Mr.  Belknap  spoke  in  a 
firm,  rather  authoritative  voice.  It  was  evident 
that  he  anticipated  some  reluctance  on  the  boy's 
part,  and  therefore,  assumed,  in  the  outset,  a  very 

decided  manner. 

f 

John  Thomas,  a  lad  between  twelve  and  thir- 
teen years  of  age,  was  seated  on  the  doorstep, 
reading.  A  slight  movement  of  the  body  indicated 
that  he  heard ;  but  he  did  not  lift  his  eyes  from 
the  book,  nor  make  any  verbal  response. 

"  John  Thomas  !"  This  time  the  voice  of  Mr 
Belknap  was  loud,  sharp,  and  imperative. 


250  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Sir,''  responded  the  boy,  dropping  the  vol- 
ume in  his  lap,  and  looking  up  with  a  slightly 
flushed,  but  sullen  face. 

"  Did  n't  you  hear  me  when  I  first  spoke  ?" 
said  Mr.  Belknap,  angrily. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then,  why  did  n't  you  answer  me  ?  Always 
respond  when  you  are  spoken  to.  I'm  tired  of 
this  ill-mannerd,  disrespectful  way  of  yours." 

The  boy  stood  up,  looking,  now,  dogged,  as 
well  as  sullen. 

"  Go  get  your  hat  and  jacket."  This  was  said 
in  a  tone  of  command,  accompanied  by  a  side  toss 
of  the  head,  by  the  way  of  enforcing  the  order. 

"  What  for  ?"  asked  John  Thomas,  not  mov- 
ing a  pace  from  where  he  stood. 

"  Go  and  do  what  I  tell  you.  Get  your  hat 
and  jacket." 

The  boy  moved  slowly  and  with  a  very  reluctant 
air  from  the  room. 

"  Now,  don't  be  all  day,"  Mr.  Belknap  called 
after  him,  "  I'm  in  a  hurry.  Move  briskly." 

How  powerless  the  father's  words  died  upon 
the  air.  The  motions  of  John  Thomas  were  not 
quickened  in  the  slightest  degree.  Like  a  soul- 
less automaton  passed  he  out  into  the  passage 


AUNT  MARY  8  SUGGESTION.  25 1 

and  up  the  stairs ;  while  the  impatient  Mr.  Bel 
knap  could  with  difficulty  restrain  an  impulse  to 
follow  after,  and  hasten  the  sulky  boy's  move* 
ments  with  blows.  He  controlled  himself,  how 
ever,  and  resumed  the  perusal  of  his  newspaper. 
Five,  ten  minutes  passed,  and  John  Thomas  had 
not  yet  appeared  to  do  the  errand  upon  which 
his  father  designed  to  send  him.  Suddenly  Mr. 
Belknap  dropped  his  paper,  and  going  hastily  to 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  called  out : 

"  You  John  1  John  Thomas  !" 

''  Sir  !"  came  a  provokingly  indifferent  voice 
from  one  of  the  chambers. 

ft  Did  n't  I  tell  you  to  hurry — say  ?" 

"  I  can't  find  my  jacket." 

"  You  don't  want  to  find  it.  "Where  did  you 
lay  it  when  you  took  it  off  last  night  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,     i  forget." 

"  If  you're  not  down  here,  with  your  jacket  on, 
in  one  minute,  I'll  warm  your  shoulders  well  for 
you." 

Mr.  Belknap  was  quite  in  earnest  in  this 
threat,  a  fact  plainly  enough  apparent  to  John 
Thomas  in  the  tone  of  his  father's  voice.  Not 
just  wishing  to  have  matters  proceed  to  this  ex- 
tremity, the  boy  opened  a  closet,  and,  singularly 


252  HOME    LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

enough,  there  hung  his  jacket  in  full  view.  At 
the  expiration  of  the  minute,  he  was  standing  be- 
fore his  disturbed  father,  with  hi&  jacket  on,  and 
buttoned  up  to  the  chin. 

"  "Where's  your  hat  ?"  now  asked  Mr.  Belknap. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Well,  find  it,  then." 

"  I've  looked  everywhere." 

"  Look  again.  There  !  What  is  that  on  the 
hat  rack,  just  under  my  coat  ?" 

The  boy  answered  not,  but  walked  moodily  to 
the  rack,  and  took  his  hat  therefrom. 

"  Eeady  at  last.  I  declare  I'm  out  of  all  pa- 
tience with  your  slow  movements  and  sulky  man- 
ner. What  do  you  stand  there  for,  knitting  your 
brows  and  pouting  your  lips  ?  Straighten  out 
your  face,  sir  !  I  won't  have  a  boy  of  mine  put  on 
such  a  countenance." 

The  lad,  thus  angrily  and  insultingly  rated, 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  throw  a  few  rays  of  sun- 
shine into  his  face.  But,  the  effort  died  fruitless. 
All  was  too  dark,  sullen,  and  rebellious  within 
his  bosom. 

"  See  here."  Mr.  Belknap  still  spoke  in  that 
peculiar  tone  of  command  which  always  stifles 
self-respect  in  the  one  to  whom  it  is  addressed. 


AUNT  MARY'S  SUGGESTION.  253 

"  Do  you  go  down  to  Leslie's  and  tell  him  to 
send  me  a  good  claw  hammer  and  three  pounds  of 
eightpenny  nails.  And  go  quickly." 

The  boy  turned  off  without  a  word  of  reply, 
and  was  slowly  moving  away,  when  his  father 
said,  sharply : 

"  Look  here,  sir  !" 

John  Thomas  paused  and  looked  back. 

"  Did  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  to  do  ?" 

"  Go  get  a  claw  hammer  and  three  pounds  of 
eightpenny  nails." 

"  Very  well.  Why  did  n't  you  indicate,  in  some 
way,  that  you  heard  me  ?  Have  n't  I  already  this 
morning  read  you  a  lecture  about  this  very  thing  ? 
Now,  go  quickly.  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

For  all  this  impatience  and  authority  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Belknap,  John  Thomas  moved  away 
at  a  snail's  pace ;  and  as  the  former  in  a  state  of 
considerable  irritability,  gazed  after  the  boy,  he 
felt  strongly  tempted  to  call  him  back,  and  give 
him  a  good  flogging  in  order  that  he  might  clearly 
comprehend  the  fact  of  his  being  in  earnest.  But 
as  this  flogging  was  an  unpleasant  kind  of  busi- 
ness, and  had,  on  all  previous  occasions,  been  sue- 


254  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

ceeded  by  a  repentant  and  self-accusing  state,  Mr. 
Belknap  restrained  his  indignant  impulses. 

"  If  that  stubborn,  incorrigible  boy  returns  in 
half  an  hour,  it  will  be  a  wonder,"  muttered  Mr. 
Belknap,  as  he  came  back  into  the  sitting-room. 
"  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do  with  him.  There 
is  no  respect  'or  obedience  in  him.  I  never  saw 
such  a  boy.  He  knows  that  I'm  in  a  hurry ;  and 
yet  he  goes  creeping  along  like  a  tortoise,  and 
ten  chances  to  one,  if  he  does  n't  forget  his  errand 
altogether  before  he  is  half  way  to  Leslie's.  What 
is  to  be  done  with  him,  Aunt  Mary  ?" 

Mr.  Belknap  turned,  as  he  spoke  to  an  elderly 
lady,  with  a  mild,  open  face,  and  clear  blue  eyes, 
from  which  goodness  looked  forth  as  an  angel. 
She  was  a  valued  relative,  who  was  paying  him 
a  brief  visit. 

Aunt  Mary  let  her  knitting  rest  in  her  lap,  and 
turned  her  mild,  thoughtful  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  'What  is  to  be  done  with  that  boy,  Aunt 
Mary  ?"  Mr.  Belknap  repeated  his  words.  "  I've 
tried  everything  with  him ;  but  he  remains  incor- 
rigible." 

"  Have  you  tried " 

Aunt  Mary  paused,  and  seemed  half  in  doubt 


AUNT  MARY'S  SUGGESTION.  255 

whether  it  were  best  to  give  utterance  to  what  was 
in  her  mind. 

"  Tried  what  ?"  asked  Mr.  Belknap. 

"  May  I  speak  plainly  ?"  said  Aunt  Mary. 

"  To  me  ?  Why  yes  !   The  plainer  the  better." 

"  Have  you  tried  a  kind,  affectionate,  unim- 
passioned  manner  with  the  boy  ?  Since  I  have 
been  here,  I  notice  that  you  speak  to  him  in  a 
cold,  indifferent,  or  authoritative  tone.  Under 
such  treatment,  some  natures,  that  soften  quickly 
in  the  sunshine  of  affection,  grow  hard  and  stub- 
born." 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  cheeks  and  brow  of 
Mr.  Belknap. 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  spoken  too  plainly," 
said  Aunt  Mary. 

Mr.  Belknap  did  not  make  any  response  for 
some  time,  but  sat,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  floor, 
in  hurried  self-examination. 

"  No,  Aunt  Mary,  not  too  plainly,"  said  he,  as 
he  looked  at  her  with  a  sobered  face.  "  I  needed 
that  suggestion,  and  thank  you  for  having  made 
it." 

"  Mrs.  Howitt  has  a  line  which  beautifully  ex- 
presses what  I  mean,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  in  her 
gentle,  earnest  way.  "  It  is 


256  HOME   LIGHTS    AND   SHADOWS. 

t 

1  For  love  hath  readier  •will  than  fear.' 

Ah,  if  we  could  all  comprehend  the  wonderful 
power  of  love !  It  is  the  fire  that  melts ;  while 
fear  only  smites,  the  strokes  hardening,  or  break- 
ing its  unsightly  fragments.  John  Thomas  has 
many  good  qualities,  that  ought  to  be  made  as 
active  as  possible.  These,  like  goodly  flowers 
growing  in  a  carefully  tilled  garden,  will  absorb 
the  latent  vitality  in  his  mind,  and  thus  leave  noth- 
ing from  which  inherent  evil  tendencies  can  draw 
nutrition." 

Aunt  Mary  said  no  more,  and  Mr.  Belknap's 
thoughts  were  soon  too  busy  with  a  new  train  of 
ideas,  to  leave  him  in  any  mood  for  conversation. 

Time  moved  steadily  on.  Nearly  half  an  hour 
had  elapsed,  in  which  period  John  Thomas  might 
have  gone  twice  to  Leslie's  store,  and  returned ; 
yet  he  was  still  absent.  Mr.  Belknap  was  partic- 
ularly in  want  of  the  hammer  and  nails,  and  the 
delay  chafed  him  very  considerably;  the  more 
particularly,  as  it  evidenced  the  indifference  of  hia 
eon  in  respect  to  his  wishes  and  commands. 
Sometimes  he  would  yield  to  a  momentary  blind- 
ing flush  of  anger,  and  resolve  to  punish  the  boy 
severely  the  moment  he  could  get  his  hands  on 
him.  But  quickly  would  come  in  Aunt  Mary's 


AUNT  MARY'S  SUGGESTION.  257 

suggestion,  and  he  would  again  resolve  to  try  the 
power  of  kind  words.  He  was  also  a  good  deal 
strengthened  in  his  purposes,  by  the  fact  that 
Aunt  Mary's  eyes  would  be  upon  him  at  the  re- 
turn of  John  Thomas.  After  her  suggestion,  and 
his  acknowledgment  of  its  value,  it  would  hardly 
do  for  him  to  let  passion  so  rule  him  as  to  act  in 
open  violation  of  what  was  right.  To  wrong  his 
son  by  unwise  treatment,  when  he  professed  to 
desire  only  his  good. 

The  fact  is,  Mr.  Belknap  had  already  made  the 
discovery,  that  if  he  would  govern  his  boy,  he 
must  first  govern  himself.  This  was  not  an  easy 
task.  Yet  he  felt  that  it  must  be  done. 

"  There  comes  that  boy  now,"  said  he,  as  he 
glanced  forth,  and  saw  John  Thomas  coming 
homeward  at  a  very  deliberate  pace.  There  was 
more  of  impatience  in  his  tone  of  voice  than  he 
wished  to  betray  to  Aunt  Mary,  who  let  her 
beautiful,  angel-like  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  or 
two,  penetratingly,  upon  him.  The  balancing 
power  of  that  look  was  needed ;  and  it  performed 
its  work. 

Soon  after,  the  loitering  boy  came  in.  He  had 
a  package  of  nails  in  his  hand,  which  he  reached, 
half  indifferently,  to  his  father. 


258  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  The  hammer !"  John  started  with  a  half 
frightened  air. 

"  Indeed,  father,  I  forgot  all  about  it  I"  said  he, 
looking  up  with  a  flushed  countenance,  in  which 
genuine  regret  was  plainly  visible. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Belknap,  in  a  disappoint- 
ed, but  not  angry  or  rebuking  voice.  "  I've  been 
waiting  a  long  time  for  you  to  come  back,  and 
now  I  must  go  to  the  store  without  nailing  up 
that  trellice  for  your  mother's  honeysuckle  and 
wisteria,  as  I  promised." 

The  boy  looked  at  his  father  a  moment  or  two 
with  an  air  of  bewilderment  and  surprise ;  then 
he  said,  earnestly : 

"  Just  wait  a  little  longer.  I'll  run  down  to  the 
store  and  get  it  for  you  in  a  minute.  I'm  very 
sorry  that  I  forgot  it." 

"  Eun  along,  then,"  said  Mr.  Belknap,  kindly. 

How  fleetly  the  lad  bounded  away  1  His  father 
gazed  after  him  with  an  emotion  of  surprise,  not 
unmixed  with  pleasure. 

"  Yes — yes,"  he  murmured,  half  aloud,  "  Mrs. 
Howitt  never  uttered  a  wiser  saying.  '  For  love 
hath  readier  will  than  fear.' " 

Quicker  than  even  Aunt  Mary,  whose  faith  in 
kind  wnrds  was  very  strong,  had  expected,  John 


AUNT  MART'S  SUGGESTION.  259 

t 
came  in  with  the  hammer,  a  bright  glow  on  hia 

cheeks  and  a  sparkle  in  his  eyes  that  strongly- 
contrasted  with  the  utter  want  of  interest  dis- 
played in  his  manner  a  little  while  before. 

"  Thank  you,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Belknap,  as 
he  took  the  hammer ;  "  I  could  not  have  asked  a 
prompter  service." 

He  spoke  very  kindly,  and  in  a  voice  of  ap- 
proval. "  And  now,  John,"  he  added,  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  requests,  rather  than  com- 
mands,  "  if  you  will  go  over  to  Frank  "Wilson's, 
and  tell  him  to  come  over  and  work  for  two  or 
three  days  in  our  garden,  you  will  oblige  me  very 
much.  I  was  going  to  call  there  as  I  went  to  the 
store  this  morning ;  but  it  is  too  late  now." 

"  0,  I'll  go,  father— I'll  go,"  replied  the  boy, 
quickly  and  cheerfully.  "  I'll  run  right  over  at 
once." 

"  Do,  if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Belknap,  now 
speaking  from  an  impulse  of  real  kindness,  for  a 
thorough  change  had  come  over  his  feelings.  A 
grateful  look  was  cast,  by  John  Thomas,  into  hia 
father's  face,  and  then  Le  was  off  to  do  his  errand. 
Mr.  Belknap  saw,  and  understood  the  meaning 
of  that  look. 

"  Yes — yes — yes, — "  thus  he  talked  with  him- 


260  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

self  as  he  took  his  way  to  the  store, — "  Aunt 
Mary  and  Mrs.  Howitt  are  right.  Love  hath  a 
readier  will.  I  ought  to  have  learned  this  lesson 
earlier.  Ah !  how  much  that  is  deformed  in 
this  self-willed  boy,  might  now  be  growing  in 
beauty." 


HELPING    THE    POOB. 


"  I'M  on  a  begging  expedition,"  said  Mr.  Jonas, 
as  he  came  bustling  into  the  counting-room  of 
a  fellow-merchant  named  Prescott.  "  And,  as 
you  are  a  benevolent  man,  I  hope  to  get  at  least 
five  dollars  here  in  aid  of  a  family  in  extremely 
indigent  circumstances.  My  wifa  heard  of  them 
yesterday;  and  the  little  that  was  learned,  has 
strongly  excited  our  sympathies.  So  I  am  out 
on  a  mission  for  supplies.  I  want  to  raise  enough 
to  buy  them  a  ton  of  coal,  a  barrel  of  flour,  a  bag 
of  potatoes,  and  a  small  lot  of  groceries." 

"  Do  you   know   anything  of  the  family  for 


262  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

which  you  propose  this  charity  ?"  inquired  Mr 
Prescott,  with  a  slight  coldness  of  manner. 

"  I' only  know  that  they  are  in  want  and  that  it 
is  the  first  duty  of  humanity  to  relieve  them,''  said 
Mr.  Jonas,  qijite  warmly. 

"  I  will  not  question  your  inference,"  said  Mr. 
Prescott.  "  To  relieve  the  wants  of  our  suffering 
fellow  creatures  is  an  unquestionable  duty.  Bui 
there  is  another  Important  consideration  con- 
nected with  poverty  and  its  demands  upon  us." 

"  "What  is  that  pf  ay  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Jonas,  who 
felt  considerably  fretted  by  so  unexpected  a  dam- 
per to  his  benevolent  enthusiasm. 

"  How  it  shall  be  done,"  answered  Mr.  Prescott, 
calmly. 

"  If  a  man  is  hungry,  give  him  bread  ;  if  he  is 
naked,  clothe  him,"  said  Mr.  Jonas.  "  There  is 
no  room  for  doubt  or  question  here.  This  family 
I  learn,  are  suffering  for  all  the  necessaries  of 
life,  and  I  can  clearly  see  the  duty  to  supply  their 
wants." 

"  Of  how  many  does  the  family  consist  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Prescott. 

"  There  is  a  man  and  his  wife  and  three  or  four 
children." 

"  IB  the  man  sober  and  industrious  ?" 


HELPING   THE   POOR.  263 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  him.  I've  had 
no  time  to  make  inquiries.  I  only  know  that 
hunger  and  cold  are  in  his  dwelling,  or,  at 
least  were  in  his  dwelling  yesterday." 

"  Then  you  have  already  furnished  relief  ?" 
"  Temporary  relief.      I  shouldn't  have  slept 
last  night,  after  what  I  heard,  without  just  send- 
ing them  a  bushel  of  coal,  and  a  basket  of  pro- 
visions." 

"  For  which  I  honor  your  kindness  of  heart, 
Mr.  Jonas.  So  far  you  acted  right.  But,  I  am 
by  no  means  so  well  assured  of  the  wisdom  and 
humanity  of  your  present  action  in  the  case.  The 
true  way  to  help  the  poor,  is  to  put  it  into  their 
power  to  help  themselves.  The  mere  bestowal 
of  alms  is,  in  most  cases  an  injury;  either  encou- 
raging idleness  and  vice,  or  weakening  self-respect 
and  virtuous  self-dependence.  There  is  innate 
strength  in  every  one ;  let  us  seek  to  develop  thia 
strength  in  the  prostrate,  rather  than  hold  them 
up  by  a  temporary  application  of  our  own  powers, 
to  fall  again,  inevitably,  when  the  sustaining  hand 
is  removed.  This,  depend  upon  it,  is  not  true 
benevolence.  Every  one  has  ability  to  serve  the 
common  good,  and  society  renders  back  sustenance 
for  bodily  life  as  the  reward  of  this  service." 


264  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  But,  suppose  a  man  cannot  get  work,"  said 
Mr.  Jonas.  "  How  is  he  to  serve  society,  for 
the  sake  of  a  reward  ?" 

"  True  charity  will  provide  employment  for 
him  rather  than  bestow  alms." 

"  But,  if  there  is  no  employment  to  be  had 
Mr.  Prescott  ?" 

"  You  make  a  very  extreme  case.  For  all  who 
are  willing  to  work,  in  this  country,  there  is  em- 
ployment." 

"  I'm  by  no  means  ready  to  admit  this  asser- 
tion." 

"  "Well,  we'll  not  deal  in  general  propositions  . 
because  anything  can  be  assumed  or  denied. 
Let  us  come  direct  to  the  case  in  point,  and  thus 
determine  our  duty  towards  the  family  whose 
needs  we  are  considering.  Which  will  be  best 
for  them  ?  To  help  them  in  the  way  you  pro- 
pose, or  to  encourage  them  to  help  themselves  ?" 

"  All  I  know  about  them  at  present,"  replied 
Mr.  Jonas,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  considerably 
worried,  "  is,  that  they  are  suffering  for  the  com- 
mon necessaries  of  life.  It  is  all  very  well  to  tell  a 
man  to  help  himself,  but,  if  his  arm  be  paralyzed, 
or  he  have  no  key  to  open  the  provision  shop,  he 
will  soon  starvs  under  that  system  of  benevolence. 


HELPING    THE    POOR.  265 

Feed  and  clothe  a  man  first,  and  then  set  him  to 
work  to  help  himself.  He  will  have  life  in  his 
heart  and  strength  in  his  hands." 

"  This  sounds  all  very  fair,  Mr.  Jonas ;  and 
yet,  there  is  not  so  much  true  charity  involved 
there  as  appears  on  the  surface.  It  will  avail 
little,  however,  for  us  to  debate  the  matter  now. 
Your  time  and  mine  are  both  of  too  much  value 
during  business  hours  for  useless  discussion.  I 
cannot  give,  understandingly,  in  the  present  case, 
and  so  must  disappoint  your  expectations  in  this 
quarter." 

"  Good  morning,  then,"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  bow- 
ing rather  coldly. 

"  Good  morning,"  pleasantly  responded  Mr. 
Prescott,  as  his  visitor  turned  and  left  his  store. 

"  All  a  mean  excuse  for  not  giving,"  said  Mr. 
Jonas,  to  himself,  as  he  walked  rather  hurriedly 
away.  I  don't  believe  much  in  the  benevolence 
of  your  men  who  are  so  particular  about  the  whys 
and  wherefores — so  afraid  to  give  a  dollar  to  a 
poor,  starving  fellow  «reature,  lest  the  act  encour- 
age vice  or  idleness." 

The  next  person  upon  whom  Mr.  Jonas  called, 
happened  to  be  very  much  of  Mr.  Prescott's  way 
of  thinking ;  and  the  next  chanced  to  know  some- 
12 


266  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

thing  about  the  family  for  whom  he  was  solicit- 
ing aid.  "  A  lazy,  vagabond  set !"  exclaimed  the 
individual,  when  Mr.  Jonas  mentioned  his  errand, 
"  who  would  rather  want  than  work.  They  may 
starve  before  I  give  them  a  shilling." 

"  Is  this  true  ?"  asked  Mr.  J  onas,  in  surprise. 

"  Certainly  it  is.  I've  had  their  case  stated  be- 
fore. In  fact,  I  went  through  the  sleet  and  rain 
one  bitter  cold  night  to  take  them  provisions,  so 
strongly  had  my  sympathies  in  regard  to  them 
been  excited.  Let  them  go  to  work." 

"  But  can  the  man  get  work  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Jonas. 

"  Other  poor  men,  who  have  families  dependent 
on  them,  can  get  work.  Where  there's  a  will 
there's  a  way.  Downright  laziness  is  the  disease 
in  this  case,  and  the  best  cure  for  which  is  a  little 
wholesome  starvation.  So,  take  my  advice,  and 
leave  this  excellent  remedy  t<3  work  out  a  cure." 

Mr.  Jonas  went  back  to  his  store  in  rather  a 
vexed  state  of  mind.  All  his  fine  feelings  of  be 
nevolence  were  stifled.  He  was  angry  with  the 
indigent  family,  and  angry  with  himself  for  being 
"the  fool  to  meddle  with  any  business  but  his 
own." 

"  Catch  me  on  such  an  errand  again,"  said  he, 


HELPING   THE   FOOE.  267 

indignantly.     "  I'll  never  seek  to  do  a  good  turn 
again  as  long  as  I  live." 

Just  as  he  was  saying  this,  his  neighbor  Pres- 
cott  came  into  his  store. 

"  Where  does  the  poor  family  live,  of  whom 
you  were  speaking  to  me  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  0,  don't  ask  me  about  them  1"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Jonas.  "  I've  juet  found  them  out.  They're  a 
lazy,  vagabond  set." 

"  You  are  certain  of  that?" 

"  Morally  certain.  Mr.  Caddy  says  he  knows 
them  like  a  book,  and  they'd  rather  want  than 
work.  With  him,  I  think  a  little  wholesome  starv- 
ation will  do  them  good." 

Notwithstanding  this  rather  discouraging  tea 
timony,  Mr.  Prescott  made  a  memorandum  of  the 
street  and  number  of  the  house  in  which  the  fam- 
ily lived,  remarking  as  he  did  so : 

"  I  have  just  heard  where  the  services  of  an 
able-bodied  man  are  wanted.  Perhaps  Gardiner, 
as  you  call  him,  may  be  glad  to  obtain  the  situ- 
ation." 

"  He  won't  work ;  that's  the  character  I  have 
received  of  him,"  replied  Mr.  Jonas,  whose  mind 
was  very  much  roused  against  the  man.  The 


268  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

pendulum  of  his  impulses  had  swung,  from  a  light 
touch,  to  the  other  extreme. 

"  A  dollar  earned,  is  worth  two  received  in  char- 
ity," said  Mr.  Prescott ;  "  because  the  dollar  earn- 
ed corresponds  to  service  rendered,  and  the  man 
feels  that  it  is  his  own — that  he  has  an  undoubted 
right  to  its  possession.  It  elevates  his  moral  char- 
acter, inspires  self-respect,  and  prompts  to  new 
efforts.  Mere  alms-giving  is  demoralizing  for  the 
opposite  reason.  It  blunts  the  moral  feelings, 
lowers  the  self-respect,  and  fosters  inactivity  and 
idleness,  opening  the  way  for  vice  to  come  in  and 
sweep  away  all  the  foundations  of  integrity.  Now, 
true  charity  to  the  poor  is  for  us  to  help  them  to 
help  themselves.  Since  you  left  me  a  short  time 
ago,  I  have  been  thinking,  rather  hastily,  over  the 
matter;  and  the  fact  of  hearing  about  the  place 
for  an  able-bodied  man,  as  I  just  mentioned,  has 
led  me  to  call  around  and  suggest  your  making 
interest  therefor  in  behalf  of  Gardiner.  Helping 
him  in  this  way  will  be  true  benevolence." 

"  It's  no  use,"  replied  Mr.  Jonas,  in  a  positive 
tone  of  voice.  "  He's  an  idle  good-for-nothing 
fellow,  and  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

Mr.  Prescott  urged  the  matter  no  farther,  for 
he  saw  that  to  do  so  would  be  useless.  On  his 


HELPING   THE    POOR.  269 

way  home,  on  leaving  his  store,  he  called  to  see 
Gardiner.  He  found,  in  two  small,  meagerly  fur- 
nished rooms,  a  man,  his  wife,  and  three  children. 
Everything  about  them  indicated  extreme  pov- 
erty ;  and,  worse  than  this,  lack  of  cleanliness  and 
industry.  The  woman  and  children  had  a  look 
of  health,  but  the  man  was  evidently  the  subject 
of  some  wasting  disease.  His  form  was  light,  his 
face  thin  and  rather  pale,  and  his  languid  eyes 
deeply  sunken.  He  was  very  far  from  bein#  the 
able-bodied  man  Mr.  Prescott  had  expected  to 
find.  As  the  latter  stepped  into  the  miserable 
room  where  they  were  gathered,  the  light  of  ex- 
pectation, mingled  with  the  shadows  of  mute  suf- 
fering, came  into  their  countenances.  Mr.  Pres- 
'  cott  was  a  close  observer,  and  saw,  at  a  glance, 
the  assumed  sympathy-exciting  face  of  the  mendi- 
cant in  each. 

"  You  look  rather  poor  here,"  said  he,  as  he 
took  a  chair,  which  the  woman  dusted  with  her 
dirty  apron  before  handing  it  to  him. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  and  we  are  miserably  off,"  replied 
the  woman,  in  a  half  whining  tone.  "  John,  there, 
hasn't  done  a  stroke  of  work  now  for  three 
months;  and " 

"  "Why  not  1"  interrupted  Mr.  Prescott 


270  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  My  health  is  very  poor,"  said  the  man.  "  I 
suffer  much  from  pain  in  ray  side  and  back,  and 
am  so  weak  most  of  the  time,  that  I  can  hardly 
creep  about." 

"  That  is  bad,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Prescott, 
"  very  bad."  And  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  his  eyes 
to  the  woman's  face,  and  then  scanned  the  chil- 
dren very  closely. 

"  Is  that  boy  of  yours  doing  anything  ?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  mother.  "  He's  too  young 
to  be  of  any  account." 

"  He's  thirteen,  if  my  eyes  do  not  deceive  me." 

"  Just  a  little  over  thirteen." 

"  Does  he  go  to  school  ?" 

"  No  sir.  He  has  no  clothes  fit  to  be  seen  in 
at  school." 

"  Bad — bad,"  said  Mr.  Prescott,  "  very  bad. 
The  boy  might  be  earning  two  dollars  a  week  ;  in- 
stead of  which  he  is  growing  up  in  idleness,  which 
surely  leads  to  vice." 

Gardiner  looked  slightly  confused  at  this  re- 
mark, and  his  wife,  evidently,  did  not  feel  very 
comfortable  under  the  steady,  observant  eyes  that 
were  on  her. 


HELPING    THE    POOR.  271 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  good  health,"  said  Mr. 
Prescott,  looking  at  the  woman. 

"  Yes  sir,  thank  God  !  And  if  it  wasn't  for  that. 
I  don't  know  what  we  should  all  have  done. 
Everything  has  fallen  upon  me  since  John,  there, 
has  been  ailing." 

Mr.  Prescott  glanced  around  the  room,  and 
then  remarked,  a,  little  pleasantly : 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  make  the  best  use  of 
your  health  and  strength." 

The  woman  understood  him,  for  the  color  came 
instantly  to  her  face. 

"  There  is  no  excuse  for  dirt  and  disorder," 
said  the  visitor,  more  seriously.  "  I  once  called 
to  see  a  poor  widow,  in  such  a  state  of  low  health 
that  she  had  to  lie  in  bed  nearly  half  of  every  day. 
She  had  two  small  children,  and  supported  her- 
self and  them  by  fine  embroidery,  at  which  she 
worked  nearly  all  the  time.  I  never  saw  a  neater 
room  in  my  life  than  hers,  and  her  children, 
though  in  very  plain  and  patched  clothing,  were 
perfectly  clean.  How  different  is  all  here ;  and 
yet,  when  I  entered,  you  all  sat  idly  amid  this 
disorder,  and — shall  I  speak  plainly — filth." 

The  woman,  on  whose  face  the  color  had  deep- 
ened while  Mr.  Prescott  spoke,  now  rose  up 


272  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

quickly,  and  commenced  bustling  about  the  room, 
which,  in  a  few  moments,  looked  far  less  in  dis- 
order. That  she  felt  his  rebuke,  the  visiter  re- 
garded as  a  good  sign. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  as  the  woman  resumed  her 
seat,  "  let  me  give  you  the  best  maxim  for  the 
poor  in  the  English  language ;  one  that,  if  lived 
by,  will  soon  extinguish  poverty,  or  make  it  a  very 
light  thing, — 'God  helps  those  who  help  them- 
selves.' To  be  very  plain  with  you,  it  is  clear  to 
my  eyes,  that  you  do  not  try  to  help  yourselves  ; 
such  being  the  case,  you  need  not  expect  gratuit- 
ous help  from  God.  Last  evening  you  received 
some  coal  and  a  basket  of  provisions  from  a  kind- 
hearted  man,  who  promised  more  efficient  aid  to- 
day. You  have  not  yet  heard  from  him,  and 
what  is  more,  will  not  h«»ar  from  him.  Some  one 
to  whom  he  applied  for  a  contributiou  happened 
to  know  more  about  you  than  he  did,  and  broad- 
ly pronounced  you  a  set  of  idle  vagabonds.  Just 
think  of  bearing  such  a  character  !  He  dropped 
the  matter  at  once,  and  you  will  get  nothing  from 
him.  J  am  one  of  those  upon  whom  he  called. 
Now,  if  you  are  all  disposed  to  help  yourselves,  I 
will  try  to  stand  your  friend.  If  not,  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you.  I  speak  plainly ;  it  is 


HELPING    THE    POOR,  273 

better ;  there  will  be  less  danger  of  apprehension. 
That  oldest  boy  of  yours  must  go  to  work  and 
earn  something.  And  your  daughter  can  work 
about  the  house  for  you  very  well,  while  you  go 
out  to  wash,  or  scrub,  and  thus  earn  a  dollar  or 
two,  or  three,  every  week.  There  will  be  no  dan- 
ger of  starvation  on  this  income,  and  you  will  then 
eat  your  bread  in  independence.  Mr.  Gardiner 
can  help  some,  I  do  not  in  the  least  doubt." 

And  Mr.  Prescott  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
man. 

"  If  I  was  only  able-bodied,"  said  Gardiner,  in 
a  half  reluctant  tone  and  manner. 

"  But  you  are  not.  Still,  there  are  many  things 
you  may  do.  If  by  a  little  exertion  you  can  earn 
the  small  sum  of  two  or  three  dollars  a  week,  it 
will  be  far  better — even  for  your  health — than 
idleness.  Two  dollars  earned  every  week  by 
your  wife,  two  by  your  boy,  and  three  by  yourself, 
would  make  seven  dollars  a  week ;  and  if  I  am 
not  very  much  mistaken,  you  don't  see  half  that 
sum  in  a  week  now." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  and  you  speak  the  truth  there,' 
.  said  the  woman. 

"  Very  well.    It's  plain,  then,  that  work  is  bet- 
ter than  idleness." 
12* 


274  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  But  we  can't  get  work."  The  woman  fell 
back  upon  this  strong  assertion. 

"  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  can  tell  you 
how  to  earn  half  a  dollar  a  day  for  the  next  four 
or  five  days  at  least.  So  there's  a  beginning  for 
you.  Put  yourself  in  the  way  of  useful  employ- 
ment, and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  beyond." 

"  What  kind  of  work,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  wo- 
man. 

"  We  are  about  moving  into  a  new  house,  and 
my  wife  commences  the  work  of  having  it  cleaned 
to-morrow  morning.  She  wants  another  assistant. 
Will  you  come  ?" 

The  woman  asked  the  number  of  his  residence, 
and  promised  to  accept  the  offer  of  work. 

"  Very  well.  So  far  so  good,"  said  Mr.  Pres- 
cott,  cheerfully,  as  he  arose.  "  You  shall  be  paid 
at  the  close  of  each  day's  work ;  and  that  will  give 
you  the  pleasure  of  eating  your  own  bread — a 
real  pleasure,  you  may  depend  upon  it ;  for  a  loaf 
of  Dread  earned  is  sweeter  than  the  richest  food 
bestowed  by  charity,  and  far  better  for  the 
health." 

"  But  about  the  boy,   sir?"   said   Gardiner,  • 
whose  mind  was  becoming  active  with  more  inde- 
pendent thoughts. 


HELPING    THE    POOR.  275 

"  All  in  good  time,"  said  Mr.  Prescott  smiling. 
"  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day,  you  know.  First 
let  us  secure  a  beginning.  If  your  wife  goes  to- 
morrow, I  shall  think  her  in  earnest ;  as  willing  to. 
help  herself,  and,  therefore,  worthy  to  be  helped. 
All  the  rest  will  come  in  due  order.  But  you 
may  rest  assured,  that,  if  she  does  not  come  to 
work,  it  is  the  end  of  the  matter  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  So  good  evening  to  you." 

Bright  and  early  came  Mrs.  Gardiner  on  the 
next  morning,  far  tidier  in  appearance  than  when 
Mr.  Prescott  saw  her  before.  She  was  a  stout, 
strong  woman,  and  knew  how  to  scrub  and  clean 
paint  as  well  as  the  best.  When  fairly  in  the 
spirit  of  work,  she  worked  *on  with  a  sense  of  plea- 
sure. Mrs.  Prescott  was  well  satisfied  with  her 
performance,  and  paid  her  the  half  dollar  earned 
when  her  day's  toil  was  done.  On  the  next  day, 
and  the  next,  she  came,  doing  her  work  and  re- 
ceiving her  wages. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  Mr.  Prescott 
thought  it  time  to  call  upon  the  Gardiners. 

"  "Well  this  is  encouraging  !"  said  he,  with  an 
expression  of  real  pleasure,  as  he  gazed  around 
the  room,  which  scarcely  seemed  like  the  one  he 
had  visited  before.  All  was  clean,  and  everything 


276  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

iu  order  ;  and,  what  was  better  still,  the  persons 
of  all,  though  poorly  clad,  were  clean  and  tidy. 
Mrs.  Gardiner  sat  by  the  table  mending  a  gar- 
ment; her  daughter  was  putting  away  the  sup- 
per dishes  j  while  the  man  sat  teaching  a  lesson 
in  spelling  to  their  youngest  child. 

The  glow  of  satisfaction  that  pervaded  the  bo- 
som of  each  member  of  the  family,  as  Mr.  Pres- 
cott  uttered  these  approving  words,  was  a  new 
and  higher  pleasure  than  had  for  a  long  time  been 
experienced,  and  caused  the  flame  of  self  respect 
and  self-dependence,  rekindled  once  more,  to  rise 
upwards  in  a  steady  flame. 

"  I  like  to  see  this,"  continued  Mr.  Prescott. 
"  It  does  me  good.  You  have  fairly  entered  the 
right  road.  Wulk  on  steadily,  courageously,  un- 
weariedly.  There  is  worldly  comfort  and  happi- 
ness for  you  at  the  end.  I  think  I  have  found  a 
very  good  place  for  your  son,  where  he  will  re- 
ceive a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week  to  begin  with. 
In  a  few  months,  if  all  things  suit,  he  will  get  two 
dollars.  The  work  is  easy,  and  the  opportunities 
for  improvement  good.  I  think  there  is  a  chance 
for  you,  also,  Mr.  Gardiner.  I  have  something 
in  my  mind  that  will  just  meet  your  case.  Light 
work,  and  not  over  five  or  six  hours  application 


HKLPLNG    THE    POOR,  277 

each  day — the  wages  four  dollars  a.  week  to  be- 
gin with,  and  a  prospect  of  soon  having  them 
raised  to  six  or  seven  dollars.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"  Sir  !"  exclaimed  the  poor  man,  in  whom  per- 
sonal pride  and  a  native  love  of  independence 
were  again  awakening,  "  if  you  can  do  this  for 
me,  you  will  be  indeed  a  benefactor." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  said  Mr.  Prescott,  positively. 
"  Did  I  not  say  to  you,  that  God  helps  those  who 
help  themselves  ?  It  is  even  thus.  No  one,  in 
our  happy  country  who  is  willing  to  work,  need 
be  in  want ;  and  money  earned  by  honest  indus- 
try buys  the  sweetest  bread." 

It  required  a  little  watching,  and  urging,  and 
admonition,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prescott, 
to  keep  the  Gardiners  moving  on  steadily,  in  the 
right  way.  Old  habits  and  inclinations  had  gain- 
ed too  much  power  easily  to  be  broken  ;  and  but 
for  this  watchfulness  on  their  part,  idleness  and 
want  would  again  have  entered  the  poor  man's 
dwelling. 

The  reader  will  hardly  feel  surprise,  when  told, 
that  in  three  or  four  years  from  the  time  Mr. 
Prescott  so  wisely  met  the  case  of  the  indigent 
Gardiners,  they  wore  living  in  a  suug  little  house 


278  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

of  their  own,  nearly  paid  for  out  of  the  united  in- 
dustry of  the  family,  every  one  of  which  was  now 
well  clad,  cheerful,  and  in  active  employment.  As 
for  Mr.  Gardiner,  his  health  has  improved,  in- 
Btead  of  being  injured  by  light  employment. 
Cheerful,  self- approving  thoughts,  and  useful  la- 
bor, have  temporarily  renovated  a  fast  sinking 
constitution. 

Mr.  Prescott's  way  of  helping  the  poor  is  the 
right  way.  They  must  be  taught  to  help  them- 
selves. Mere  alms-giving  is  but  a  temporary  aid, 
and  takes  away,  instead  of  giving,  that  basis  of 
eelf-dependence,  on  which  all  should  rest.  Help 
a  man  up,  and  teach  him  to  use  his  feet,  so  that 
he  can  walk  alone.  This  is  true  benevolence 


COMMON    PEOPLE. 


"  ARE  you  going  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Clayton 
and  her  daughters,  Mrs.  Marygold?"  asked  a 
neighbor,  alluding  to  a  family  that  had  just  moved 
into  Sycamore  Row. 

"  No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Lemmington,  that  I  am  not. 
I  don't  visit  everybody." 

"  I  thought  the  Claytons  were  a  very  respect- 
able family,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lemmington. 

"  Respectable  I  Everybody  is  getting  respect- 
able now-a-days.  If  they  are  respectable,  it  is 
very  lately  that  they  have  become  so.  What  is 
Mr.  Clayton,  I  wonder,  but  a  school-master  1  It's 
too  bad  that  such  people  will  come  crowding 


280  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

themselves  into  genteel  neighborhoods.    The  time 
was  when  to  live  in  Sycamore  Row  was  guarantee 
enough  for  any  one — but,  now,  all  kinds  of  peopl 
have  come  into  it." 

"  I  have  never  met  Mrs.  Clayton,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Lemmington,  "  but  I  have  been  told  that 
she  is  a  most  estimable  woman,  and  that  her 
daughters  have  been  educated  with  great  care. 
Indeed,  they  are  represented  as  being  highly  ac» 
complished  girls." 

"  "Well,  I  don't  care  what  they  are  represented 
to  be.  I'm  not  going  to  keep  company  with  a 
schoolmaster's  wife  and  daughters,  that's  certain." 

"  Is  there  anything  disgraceful  in  keeping  a 
school  ?" 

"  No,  nor  in  making  shoes,  either.  But,  then, 
that's  no  reason  why  I  should  keep  company  with 
my  shoemaker's  wife,  is  it  ?  Let  common  people 
associate  together — that's  my  doctrine." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  common  people, 
Mrs.  Marygold?" 

"  Why,  I  mean  common  people.  Poor  people. 
People  who  have  not  come  of  a  respectable  fami- 
ly. That's  what  I  mean." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  comprehend  your  expla- 
nation much  better  than  I  do  your  classification. 


COMMOW    PEOPLE.  281 

If  you  mean,  as  you  say,  poor  people,  your  ob- 
jection will  not  apply  with  full  force  to  the  Clay- 
tons, for  they  are  now  in  tolerably  easy  circum. 
stances.  As  to  the  family  of  Mr.  Clayton,  I  be- 
lieve hia  father  was  a  man  of  integrity,  though 
not  rich.  And  Mrs.  Clayton's  family  I  know  to 
be  without  reproach  of  any  kind." 

"And  yet  they  are  common  people  for  ah1 
that,"  persevered  Mrs.  Marygold.  "  Wasn't  old 
Clayton  a  mere  petty  dealer  in  small  wares. 
And  wasn't  Mrs.  Clayton's  father  a  mechanic  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  if  some  of  us  were  to  go  back  for  a 
generation  or  two,  we  might  trace  out  an  ances- 
tor who  held  no  higher  place  in  society,"  Mrs. 
Lemmington  remarked,  quietly.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  I  should." 

"  I  have  no  fears  of  that  kind,"  replied  Mrs. 
Marygold,  in  an  exulting  tone.  "  I  shall  never 
blush  when  my  pedigree  is  traced." 

"  Nor  I  neither,  I  hope.  St^,  I  should  not 
wonder  if  some  one  of  my  ancestors  had  disgraced 
himself,  for  there  are  but  few  families  that  are  not 
cursed  with  a  spotted  sheep.  But  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  that,  and  ask  only  to  be  judged  by 
what  I  am — not  by  what  my  progenitors  have 
been." 


282  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  A  standard  that  few  will  respect,  let  me  tell 
you." 

"  A  standard  that  far  the  largest  portion  of  so- 
ciety will  regard  as  the  true  one,  I  hope,"  replied 
Mrs.  Leramington.  "  But,  surely,  you  do  not  in- 
tend refusing  to  call  upon  the  Claytons  for  the 
reason  you  have  assigned,  Mrs.  Marygold." 

"  Certainly  I  do.  They  are  nothing  but  com- 
mon people,  and  therefore  beneath  me.  I  shall 
not  stoop  to  associate  with  them." 

"  I  think  that  I  will  call  upon  them.  In  fact, 
my  object  in  dropping  in  this  morning  was  to  see 
if  you  would  not  accompany  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Lemmington. 

"  Indeed,  I'  wilt  not,  and  for  the  reasons  I  have 
given.  They  are  only  common  people.  You 
will  be  stooping." 

"  No  one  stoops  in  doing  a  kind  act.  Mrs. 
Clayton  is  a  stranger  in  the  neighborhood,  and  is 
entitled  to  the  Courtesy  of  a  call,  if  no  more;  and 
that  I  shall  extend  to  her.  If  I  find  her  to  be 
uncongenial  in  her  tastes,  no  intimate  acquaint- 
anceship need  -be  formed.  If  she  is  congenial,  I 
will  add  another  to  my  list  of  valued  friends. 
You  and  I ,  I  find,  estimate  differently.  I  judge 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  283 

every    individual  by   merit,   you  by  family,  or 
descent." 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Marygold,  somewhat  coldly.  "  For  my  part,  I 
am  particular  about  my  associates.  I  will  visit 
Mrp.  Florence,  and  Mrs.  Harwood,  and  such  an 
move  in  good  society,  but  as  to  your  school- 
teachers' wives  and  daughters,  I  must  beg  to  be 
excused." 

"  Every  one  to  her  taste,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Lem- 
mington,  with  a  smile,  as  she  moved  towards 
the  door,  where  she  stood  for  a  few  moments  to 
utter  some  parting  compliments,  and  then  with- 
drew. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  she  was  shown  into 
Mrs.  Clayton's  parlors,  where,  in  a  moment  or 
two,  she  was  met  by  the  lady  upon  whom  she 
had  called,  and  received  with  an  air  of  easy  grace- 
fulness, that  at  once  charmed  her.  A  brief  con- 
versation convinced  her  that  Mq|.  Clayton  was, 
in  intelligence  and  moral  worth,  as  far  above 
Mrs.  Marygold,  as  that  personage  imagined  her- 
self to  be  above  her.  Her  daughters,  who  came 
in  while  she  sat  conversing  with  their  mother, 
showed  themselves  to  possess  all  those  graces  of 
mind  and  manner  that  ^jn  upon  our  admiration 


284  HOME    LIGHTS    AN1>    SHADOWS. 

so  irresistably.  An  hour  passed  quickly  and 
pleasantly,  and  then  Mrs.  Lemrnington  with- 
drew. 

The  difference  between  Mrs.  Lemmington  and 
Mrs.  Marygold  was  simply  this.    The  former  had 
been  familiar  with  what  is  called  the  best  so 
ciety  from  her  earliest  recollection,  and  being  there- 
fore, constantly  in  association  with  those  looked 
upon  as  the  upper  class,  knew  nothing  of  the  up- 
start self-estimation   which    is    felt  by    certain 
weak  ignorant  persons,  who  by  some  accidental 
circumstance  are    elevated  far  above  the  condi- 
tion  into   which  they  moved   originally.      She 
could  estimate  true  worth  in  humble  garb  as  well 
as  in  velvet  and  rich  satins.      She  was  one  of 
those   individuals  who   never  pass   an  old  and 
worthy  domestic  in  the  street  without  recogni- 
tion, or  stopping  to  make  some  kind  inquiry — 
one  who  never  forgot  a  familiar  face,  or  neglected 
to  pass  a  kind^word  to  even  the  humblest  who 
possessed  the  merit  of  good  principles.     As  to 
Mrs.  Marygold,  notwithstanding  her  boast  in  re- 
gard to  pedigree,  there  were  not  a  few  who  could 
remember  when  her  grandfather  carried  a  ped- 
lar's  pack    on   his   back — and   an   honest   and 
worthy  pedlar  he  was,  saving  his  pence  until  they 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  285 

became  pounds,  and  then  relinquishing  his  pere- 
grinating propensities,  for  the  quieter  life  of  a 
small  shop-keeper.  His  son,  the  father  of  Mrs. 
Marygold,  while  a  boy  had  a  pretty  familiar  ac- 
quaintance with  low  life.  But,  as  soon  as  his 
father  gained  the  means  to  do  so,  he  was  put  to 
school  and  furnished  with  a  good  education. 
Long  before  he  was  of  age,  the  old  man  had  be- 
come a  pretty  large  shipper;  and  when  his  son 
arrived  at  mature  years,  he  took  him  into  busi- 
ness as  a  partner.  In  marrying,  Mrs.  Mary  gold's 
father  chose  a  young  lady  whose  father,  like  his 
own,  had  grown  rich  by  individual  exertions. 
This  young  lady  had  not  a  few  false  notions  in 
regard  to  the  true  genteel,  and  these  fell  legiti- 
mately to  the  share  of  her  eldest  daughter,  who, 
when  she  in  turn  came  upon  the  stage  of  action, 
married  into  an  old  and  what  was  called  a  highly 
respectable  family,  a  circumstance  that  puffed  her 
up  to  the  full  extent  of  her  capacity  to  bear  infla- 
tion. There  were  few  in  the  circle  of  her  acquain- 
tances who  did  not  fully  appreciate  her,  and  smile 
at  her  weakness  and  false  pride.  Mrs.  Florence, 
to  whom  she  had  alluded  in  her  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Lemmington,  and  who  lived  in  Sycamore 
Kow,  was  not  only  faultless  in  regard  to  family 


286  HOME    LIGHTS    <LND    SHADOWS. 

connections,  but  was  esteemed  in  the  most  intel 
ligent  circles  for  her  rich  mental  endowments  and 
high  moral  principles.  Mrs.  Harwood,  also  allu- 
ded to,  was  the  daughter  of  an  English  barrister 
and  wife  of  a  highly  distinguished  professional 
man,  and  was  besides  richly  endowed  herself, 
morally  and  intellectually.  Although  Mrs.  Mary- 
gold  was  very  fond  of  visiting  them  for  the  mere 
eclat  of  the  thing,  yet  their  company  was  scarcely 
more  agreeable  to  her,  than  hers  was  to  them,  for 
there  was  little  in  common  between  them,  Still , 
they  had  to  tolerate  her,  and  did  so  with  a  good 
grace. 

It  was,  perhaps,  three  months  after  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton moved  into  the  neighborhood,  that  cards  of 
invitation  were  sent  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marygold 
and  daughter  to  pass  a  social  evening  at  Mrs 
Harwood's.  Mrs.  M.  was  of  course  delighted 
and  felt  doubly  proud  of  her  own  importance. 
Her  daughter  Melinda,  of  whom  she  was  exces 
eively  vain,  was  an  indolent,  uninteresting  girl,  too 
dull  to  imbibe  even  a  small  portion  of  her  mother's 
self-estimation.  In  company,  she  attracted  but 
little  attention,  except  what  her  father's  money 
and  standing  in  society  claimed  for  her. 

On  the  evening  appointed,  the  Marygolds  re 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  287 

paired  to  the  elegant  residence  of  Mrs.  Harwood 
and  were  ushered  into  a  large  and  brilliant  com- 
pany, more  than  half  of  whom  were  strangers  even 
to  them.  Mrs.  Lemmington  was  there,  and  Mrs. 
Florence,  and  many  others  with  whom  Mrs. 
Marygold  was  on  terms  of  intimacy,  besides  sev- 
eral "distinguished  strangers."  Among  those 
with  whom  Mrs,  Marygold  was  unacquainted, 
were  two  young  ladies  who  seemed  to  attract 
general  attention.  They  were  not  showy,  chat- 
tering girls,  such  as  in  all  companies  attract  a 
swarm  of  shallow-minded  youug  fellows  about 
them.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  something  re- 
tiring, almost  shrinking  in  their  manner,  that 
shunned  rather  than  courted  observation.  And 
yet,  no  one,  who,  attracted  by  their  sweet,  modest 
faces,  found  himself  by  their  side  that  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  linger  there. 

"  Who  are  those  girls,  Mrs.  Lemmington  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Marygold,  meeting  the  lady  she  ad- 
dressed in  crossing  the  room. 

"  The  two  girls  in  the  corner  who  are  attract- 
ing so  much  attention  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  know  them  ?" 

"  I  certainly  do  not." 


288  HOME   LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS. 

"  They  are  no  common  persons,  I  can  assure 
you,  Mrs.  Marygold." 

"  Of  course,  or  they  would  not  be  found  here. 
But  who  are  they  ?" 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Lemmington !  how  are  you  ?"  said 
a  lady,  coming  up  at  this  moment,  and  interrupt- 
ing the  conversation.  "  I  have  been  looking  for 
you  this  half  hour."  Then,  passing  her  arm  with- 
in that  of  the  individual  she  had  addressed,  she 
drew  her  aside  before  she  had  a  chance  to  answer 
Mrs.  Mary  gold's  question. 

In  a  few  minutes  after,  a  gentleman  handed 
Meliuda  to  the  piano,  and  there  was  a  brief  pause 
as  she  struck  the  instrument,  and  commenced 
going  through  the  unintelligible  intricacies  of  a 
fashionable  piece  of  music.  She  could  strike  all 
the  notes  with  scientific  correctness  and  mechan- 
ical precision.  But  there  was  no  more  expression 
in  her  performance  than  there  is  in  that  of  a 
musical  box.  After  she  had  finished  her  task, 
she  left  the  instrument  with  a  few  words  of  com- 
mendation extorted  by  a  feeling  of  politeness. 

"  Will  you  not  favor  us  with  a  song  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Harwood,  going  up  to  one  of  the  young  ladies 
to  whom  allusion  has  just  been  made. 
"  My  sister  sings,  I  do  not,"  was  the  modest 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  289 

reply,  "  but  I  will  take  pleasure  in  accompanying 
her." 

All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  them  as  they  moved 
towards  the  piano,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Har- 
wood,  for  something  about  their  manners,  appear- 
ance and  conversation,  had  interested  nearly  all 
in  the  room  who  had  been  led  to  notice  them  par- 
ticularly. The  sister  who  could  not  sing,  seated 
herself  with  an  air  of  easy  confidence  at  the  in- 
strument, while  the  other  stood  near  her.  The 
first  few  touches  that  passed  over  the  keys  show- 
ed that  the  performer  knew  well  how  to  give  to 
music  a  soul.  The  tones  that  came  forth  were 
not  the  simple  vibrations  of  a  musical  chord,  but 
expressions  of  affection  given  by  her  whose  fin- 
gers woke  the  strings  into  harmony.  But  if  the 
preluding  touches  fell  witchingly  upon  every  ear, 
how  exquisitely  sweet  and  thrilling  was  the  voice 
that  stole  out  low  and  tremulous  at  first,  and 
deepened  in  volume  and  expression  every  mo- 
ment, until  the  whole  room  seemed  filled  with 
melody  !  Every  whisper  was  hushed,  and  every 
one  bent  forward  almost  breathlessly  to  listen 
And  when,  at  length,  both  voice  and  instrument 
were  hushed  into  silence,  no  enthusiastic  expres- 
sions of  admiration  were  heard,  but  only  half 
13 


290  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

whispered  ejaculations  of  "  exquisite  1"  sweet  1' 
"  beautiful !"  Then  came  earnestly  expressed 
wishes  for  another  and  another  song  until  the 
sisters,  feeling  at  length  that  many  must  be 
wearied  with  their  long  continued  occupation  of 
the  piano,  felt  themselves  compelled  to  decline 
further  invitations  to  sing.  No  one  else  ventured 
to  touch  a  key  of  the  instrument  during  the 
evening. 

"  Do  pray,  Mrs.  Lemmiugton,  tell  me  who  those 
girls  are — I  am  dying  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Mary- 
gold,  crossing  the  room  to  where  the  person  she 
addressed  was  seated  with  Mrs.  Florence  and 
several  other  ladies  of  "  distinction,"  and  taking  a 
chair  by  her  side. 

"  They  are  only  common  people,"  replied  Mrs. 
Lemmington,  with  affected  indifference. 

"  Common  people,  my  d,ear  madam  !  What  do 
you  mean  by  such  an  expression  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Florence  in  surprise,  and  with  something  of  in- 
dignation latent  in  her  tone. 

"  I'm  sure  their  father,  Mr.  Clayton,  is  nothing 
but  a  teacher." 

"  Mr.  Clayton  1  Surely  those  are  not  Clayton's 
daughters  I"  ejaculated,  Mrs.  Marygold,  in  sur- 
prise. 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  291 

"They  certainly  are  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs. 
Florence  in  a  quiet  but  firm  voice,  for  she  in- 
stantly perceived,  from  something  in  Mrs.  Mary- 
gold's  voice  and  manner,  the  reason  why  her  friend 
had  alluded  to  them  as  common  people. 

"Well,  really,  I  am  surprised  that  Mrs.  Har 
wood  should  have  invited  them  to  her  house,  and 
introduced  them  into  genteel  company." 
"  Why  so,  Mrs.  Marygold  ?" 
"  Because,  as  Mrs.  Lemmington  has  just  said, 
they  are  common  people.  Their  father  is  nothing 
but  a  schoolmaster." 

"  If  I  have  observed  them  rightly,"  Mrs.  Flo- 
rence said  to  this,  "  I  have  discovered  them  to  be 
a  rather  uncommon  kind  of  people.  Almost  any 
one  can  thrum  on  the  piano ;  but  you  will  notjfind 
onje  in  a  hundred  who  can  perform  with  such  ex- 
quisite grace  and  feeling  as  they  can.  For  half 
an  hour  this  evening  I  sat  charmed  with  their 
conversation,  and  really  instructed  and  elevated 
by  the  sentiments  they  uttered.  I  cannot  say  as 
much  for  any  other  young  ladies  in  the  room,  for 
there  are  none  others  here  above  the  common  run 
of  ordinarily  intelligent  girls — none  who  may  not 
really  be  classed  with  common  people  in  the  true 
acceptation  of  the  term." 


202  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  And  take  them  all  in  all,"  added  Mrs.  Lem- 
mington  with  warmth,  "  you  will  find  nothing 
common  about  them.  Look  at  their  dress ;  see 
how  perfect  in  neatness,  in  adaptation  of  colors 
and  arrangement  to  complexion  and  shape,  is 
every  thing  about  them.  Perhaps  there  will  not 
be  found  a  single  young  lady  in  the  room,  besides 
them,  whose  dress  does  not  show  something  not 
in  keeping  with  good  taste.  Take  their  manners. 
Are  they  not  graceful,  gentle,  and  yet  full  of 
nature's  own  expression.  In  a  word,  is  there  any 
thing  about  them  that  is  '  common  ?' " 

"  Nothing  that  my  eye  has  detected,"  replied 
Mrs.  Florence. 

"  Except  their  origin,"  half-sneeringly  rejoined 
Mrs.  Marygold. 

"  They  were  born  of  woman,"  was  the  grave 
remark.  "  Can  any  of  us  boast  a  higher  origin  ?" 

"  There  are  various  ranks  among  women,"  Mrs. 
Marygold  said,  firmly. 

"  True.     But,  % 

«  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  man's  the  gold  for  a'  that.' 

Mere  position  in  society  does  not  make  any  of  us 
more  or  less  a  true  woman.  I  could  -name  you 
over  a  dozen  or  more  in  my  circle  of  acquaintance, 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  203 

who  move  in  what  is  called  the  highest  rank ;  who 
in  all  that  truly  constitutes  a  woman,  are  incom- 
parably below  Mrs.  Clayton ;  who,  if  thrown  with 
her  among  perfect  strangers,  would  be  instantly 
eclipsed.  Come  then,  Mrs.  Marygold,  lay  aside  all 
these  false  standards,  and  estimate  woman  more 
justly.  Let  me,  to  begin,  introduce  both  yourself 
and  Melinda  to  the  young  ladies  this  evening.  You 
will  be  charmed  with  them,  I  know,  and  equally 
charmed  with  their  mother  when  you  know  her." 

"  No,  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs.  Marygold;  drawing 
herself  up  with  a  dignified  air.  "  I  have  no  wish  to 
cultivate  their  acquaintance,  or  the  acquaintance 
of  any  persons  in  their  station.  I  am  surprised 
that  Mrs.  Harwood  has  not  had  more  considera- 
tion for  her  friends  than  to  compel  them  to  come 
in  contact  with  such  people." 

No  reply  was  made  to  this ;  and  the  next  re- 
mark of  Mrs.  Florence  was  about  some  matter 
of  general  interest. 

"  Henry  Florence  has  not  been  here  for  a 
week,"  said  Mrs.  Marygold  to  her  daughter  Me- 
linda, some  two  months  after  the  period  at  which 
the  conversation  just  noted  occurred. 

"  No  ;  and  he  used  to  come  almost  every  even- 


294  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

ing,"  was  Melinda's  reply,  made  in  a  tone  that 
expressed  disappointment. 

"  I  wonder  what  can  be  the  reason  ?"  Mrs. 
Marygold  said,  half  aloud,  half  to  herself,  but 
with  evident  feelings  of  concern.  The  reason  of 
her  concern  and  Melinda's  disappointment  arose 
from  the  fact  that  both  had  felt  pretty  sure  of  se- 
curing Henry  Florence  as  a  member  of  the  Ma- 
rygold family — such  connection,  from  his  stand- 
ing in  society,  being  especially  desirable. 

At  the  very  time  the  young  man  was  thus  al- 
luded to  by  Mrs.  Marygold  and  her  daughter,  he 
sat  conversing  with  his  mother  upon  a  subject 
that  seemed,  from  the  expression  of  his  -counte- 
nance, to  be  of  much  interest  to  him. 

"  So  you  do  not  feel  inclined  to  favor  any  pre- 
ference on  my  part  towards  Miss  Marygold  ?"  he 
said,  looking  steadily  into  his  mother's  face. 

"  I  do  not,  Henry,"  was  the  frank  reply. 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  There  is  something  too  common  about  her, 
if  I  may  so  express  myself." 

"  Too  common !  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  1  mean  that  there  is  no  distinctive  character 
about  her.  She  is,  like  the  large  mass  around  us, 
a  mere  made-up  girl." 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  295 

"  Speaking  in  riddles." 

"  I  mean  then,  Henry,  that  her  character  haa 
been  formed,  or  made  up,  by  mere  external  ac- 
cretions from  the  common-place,  vague,  and  often 
too  false  notions  of  things  that  prevail  in  society, 
instead  of  by  the  force  of  sound  internal  princi- 
ples, seen  to  be  true  from,  a  rational  intuition, 
and  acted  upon  because  they  are  true.  Cannot 
you  perceive  the  difference  ?" 

"  0  yes,  plainly.  And  this  is  why  you  use  the 
word  'common,'  in  speaking  of  her  ?" 

u  The  reason.  And  now  my  son,  can  you  not 
see  that  there  is  force  in  my  objection  to  her — • 
that  she  really  possess  any  character  distinctively 
her  own,  that  is  founded  upon  a  clear  and  ration- 
al appreciation  of  abstractly  correct  principles  of 
action  ?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  differ  from  you  very 
widely,"  the  young  man  said,  thoughtfully.  "  But, 
if  you  call  Melinda  'common,'  where  shall  I  go  to 
find  one  who  may  be  called  'uncommon  ?'  " 

"  I  can  point  you  to  one." 

«  Say  on." 

"  You  have  met  Fanny  Clayton  ?" 

"  Fanny  Clayton  !"  ejaculated  the  young  man, 


296  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

taken  by  surprise,  the  blood  rising  to  his  face 
"  0  yes,  I  have  met  her." 

"  She  is  no  common  girl,  Henry,"  Mrs.  Flo- 
rence said,  in  a  serious  voice.  She  has  not  her 
equal  in  my  circle  of  acquaintances." 

"  Nor  in  mine  either,"  replied  the  young  man, 
recovering  himself.  "  But  you  would  not  feel 
satisfied  to  have  your  son  address  Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  Henry,  I  have  never 
met  with  a  young  lady  whom  I  would  rather  see 
your  wife  than  Fanny  Clayton." 

"  And  I,"  rejoined  the  young  man  with  equal 
warmth,  "  never  met  with  any  one  whom  I  could 
truly  love  until  I  saw  her  sweet  young  face." 

"  Then  never  think  again  of  one  like  Melinda 
Marygold.  You  could  not  be  rationally  happy 
with  her." 

Five  or  six  months  rolled  away,  during  a  large 
portion  of  which  time  the  fact  that  Henry  Flo- 
rence was  addressing  Fanny  Clayton  formed  a 
theme  for  pretty  free  comment  in  various  quar- 
ters. Most  of  Henry's  acquaintance  heartily  ap- 
proved his  choice ;  but  Mrs.  Marygold,  and  a  few 
like  her,  all  with  daughters  of  the  "  common " 
class,  were  deeply  incensed  at  the  idea  of  a  "  com- 
mon kind  of  a  girl "  like  Miss  Clayton  being  fore 


COMMON    PEOPLE.  297 

ed  into  genteel  society,  a  consequence  that  would 
of  course  follow  her  marriage.  Mrs.  Marygold  he- 
sitated not  to  declare  that  for  her  part,  let  others 
do  as  they  liked,  she  was  not  going  to  associate 
with  her — that  was  settled.  She  had  too  much 
regard  to  what  was  due  to  her  station  in  life.  As 
for  Melinda,  she  had  no  very  kind  feelings  for  her 
successful  rival — and  such  a  rival  too  !  A  mere 
schoolmaster's  daughter!  And  she  hesitated  not 
to  speak  of  her  often  and  in  no  very  courteous 
terras. 

"When  the  notes  of  invitation  to  the  wedding  at 
length  came,  which  ceremony  was  to  be  perform- 
ed in  the  house  of  Mr.  Clayton,  in  Sycamore  Row, 
Mrs.  Marygold  declared  that  to  send  her  an  invi- . 
tation  to  go  to  such  a  place  was  a  downright 
insult.  As  the  time,  however,  drew  near,  and 
she  found  that  Mrs.  Harwood  and  a  dozen  others 
equally  respectable  in  her  eyes  were  going  to  the 
wedding,  she  managed  to  smother  her  indigna- 
tion so  far  as,  at  length,  to  make  up  her  mind  to 
be  present  at  the  nuptial  ceremonies.  But  it  was 
not  until  her  ears  were  almost  stunned  by  the 
repeated  and  earnestly  expressed  congratulations 
to  Mrs.  Florence  at  the  admirable  choice  made  by 
her  son,  and  that  too  by  those  whose  tastes  and 
13* 


^98  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

opinions  she  dared  not  dispute,  that  she  could 
'perceive  any  thing  even  passable  in  the  beautiful 
young  bride. 

Gradually,  however,  as  the  younger  Mrs.  Flo- 
rence, in  the  process  of  time,  took  her  true  posi- 
tion in  the  social  circle,  even  Mrs.  Marygold  could 
begin  to  perceive  the  intrinsic  excellence  of  her 
character,  although  even  this  was  more  a  tacit 
assent  to  a  universal  opinion  than  a  discovery  of 
her  own. 

As  for  Melinda,  she  was  married  about  a  year 
after  Fanny  Clayton's  wedding,  to  a  sprig  of  gen- 
tility with  about  as  much  force  of  character  as 
herself.  This  took  place  on  the  same  night  that 
Lieut.  Harwood,  son  of  Mrs.  Harwood  before  al- 
luded to,  led  to  the  altar  Mary  Clayton,  the  sister 
of  Fanny,  who  was  conceded  by  all,  to  be  the 
loveliest  girl  they  had  ever  seen — lovely,  not  only 
in  face  and  form,  but  loveliness  itself  in  the  sweet 
perfections  of  moral  beauty.  As  for  Lieut.  Har- 
wood, he  was  worthy  of  the  heart  he  had  won. 


MAKING    A    SENSATION. 


"  Do  you  intend  going  to  Mrs.  Walshingham's 
party,  next  week,  Caroline  ?"  asked  Miss  Melvina 
Fenton  of  her  friend  Caroline  Gay.  "  It  is  said 
that  it  will  be  a  splendid  affair." 

"  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind,  Melvina." 

"  0  you'll  go  of  course.  /  wouldn't  miss  it  for 
the  world."' 

"  I  am  much  inclined  to  think  that  I  will  stay 
at  home  or  spend  my  evening  in  some  less  brilliant 
assemblage,"  Caroline  Gay  replied  in  a  quiet  tone, 

"  Nonsense,  Caroline  !  There  hasn't  been  such 
a  chance  to  make  a  sensation  this  season." 


300  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

"  And  why  should  I  wish  to  make  a  sensation, 
Melvina  ?" 

"  Because  it's  the  only  way  to  attract  attention. 
Now-a-days,  the  person  who  creates  a  sensation, 
secures  the  prize  that  a  dozen  quiet,  retiring  indi 
viduals  are  looking  and  longing  after,  in  vain. 
We  must  dazzle  if  we  would  win." 

"  That  is,  we  must  put  on  false  colors,  and  de- 
ceive not  only  ourselves,  but  others." 

"  How  strangely  you  talk,  Caroline !  Every 
one  now  is  attracted  by  show  and  eclat.1* 

"  Not  every  one,  I  hope,  Melvina." 

"  Show  me  an  exception." 

"  Caroline  smiled  as  she  answered, 

"  Your  friend  Caroline,  as  you  call  her,  I  hope 
is  one." 

"  Indeed !  And  I  suppose  I  must  believe  you. 
But  come,  don't  turn  Puritan.  You  are  almost 
behind  the  age,  as  it  is,  and  if  you  don't  take 
care,  you  will  get  clear  out  of  date,  and  either 
live  and  die  an  old  maid,  or  have  to  put  up  with 
one  of  your  quiet  inoffensive  gentlemen  who  hardly 
dare  look  a  real  briliant  belle  in  the  face." 

Caroline  Gay  could  not  help  smiling  at  her 
friend's  light  bantering,  even  while  she  felt  inclin- 
ed to  be  serious  in  consideration  of  the  false  views 


MAKING    A   SENSATION.  301 

of  life  that  were  influencing  the  conduct  and  af- 
fecting the  future  prospects  of  one,  whose  many 
good  qualities  of  heart,  won  her  love. 

"  And  if  I  should  get  off,"  she  said,  "  with  one 
of  those  quiet  gentlemen  you  allude  to,  it  will  be 
about  the  height  of  my  expectation." 

"  "Well,  you  are  a  queer  kind  of  a  girl,  any 
how  1  But,  do  you  know  why  I  want  to  make  a 
sensation  at  Mrs.  Walshingham's  ?" 

"  No.     I  would  be  pleased  to  hear." 

"  Then  I  will  just  let  you  into  a  bit  of  a  secret. 
I've  set  my  heart  on  making  a  conquest  of  Henry 
Clarence." 

"  Indeed !"  ejaculated  Caroline,  with  an  em 
phasis  that  would  have  attracted  Melvina's  atten- 
tion, had  her  thoughts  and  feelings  not  been  at 
the  moment  too  much  engaged. 

"Yes,  I  have.  He's  so  calm  and  cold,  and 
rigidly  polite  to  me  whenever  we  meet,  that  I  am 
chilled  with  the  frigid  temperature  of  the  atmos- 
phere that  surrounds  him.  But  as  he  is  a  prize 
worth  the  trouble  of  whining,  I  have  set  my  heart 
on  melting  him  down,  and  bringing  him  to  my 
feet." 

Caroline  smiled  as  her  friend  paused,  but  did 
not  reply 


302  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  I  know  half  a  dozen  girls  •  now,  who  are 
breaking  their  hearts  after  him,"  continued  the 
maiden.  "  But  I'll  disappoint  them  all,  if  there 
is  power  in  a  woman's  winning  ways  to  conquer. 
So  you  see,  my  lady  Gay — Grave  it  should  be — 
that  I  have  some  of  the  strongest  reasons  in  the 
world,  for  wishing  to  be  present  at  the  'come  off' 
next  week.  Now  you'll  go,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  will,  if  it's  only  to  see  the  effect  of 
your  demonstrations  on  the  heart  of  Henry  Clar- 
ence. But  he  is  one  of  your  quiet,  inoffensive 
gentlemen,  Melvina.  How  comes  it  that  you  set 
him  as  a  prize  ?" 

"  If  he  is  quiet,  there  is  fire  in  him.  I've  seen 
his  eye  flash,  and  his  countenance  brighten  with 
thought  too  often,  not  to  know  of  what  kind  of 
stuff  be  is  made." 

"  And  if  I  were  to  judge  of  his  character,  he  is 
not  one  to  be  caugnt  by  effect,"  Caroline  remarked. 

"  0,  as  to  that,  all  men  have  their  weak  side. 
There  isn't  one,  trust  me,  who  can  withstand  the 
brilliant  attractions  of  the  belle  of  the  ball  room, 
such  as,  pardon  my  vanity,  I  hope  to  be  on  next 
Tuesday  evening.  I  have  seen  a  little  of  the 
world  in  my  time,  and  have  always  observed,  that 
whoever  can  eclipse  all  her  fair  compeers  at  one 


MAKING  A  SENSATION.  303 

of  these  brilliant  assemblages,  possesses,  for  the 
time,  a  power  that  may  be  used  to  advantage. 
All  the  beaux  flock  around  her,  and  vie  with  each 
other  in  kind  attentions.  If,  then,  she  distinguish 
some  individual  of  them  above  the  rest,  by  her 
marked  reciprocation  of  his  attentions,  he  is  won. 
The  grateful  fellow  will  never  forsake  her." 

"  Quite  a  reasoner,  upon  my  word !  And  so  in 
this  way  you  intend  winning  Henry  Clarence  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.     At  least,  I  shall  try  hard." 

"  And  you  will  fail,  I  am  much  disposed  to 
think." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that.  Henry  Clarence  is  but 
a  man." 

"  Yet  he  is  too  close  an  observer  to  be  deceived 
into  any  strong  admiration  of  a  ball-room  belle." 

"  You  are  behind  the  age,  Caroline.  Your  quiet 
unobtrusiveness  will  I  fear  cause  you  to  be  passed 
by,  while  some  one  not  half  so  worthy,  will  take 
the  place  which  you  should  have  held  in  the  affec- 
tions of  a  good  husband." 

"  Perhaps  so.  But,  I  wish  to  be  taken  for  what 
I  am.  I  want  no  man,  who  has  not  the  good  sense 
and  discrimination  to  judge  of  my  real  character." 

"  You  will  die  an  old  maid,  Caroline." 


3C4  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  That  may  be.  But,  in  all  sincerity,  I  must 
say  that  I  hope  not." 

"  You  will  go  to  the  ball,  of  course  ?" 

«  I  think  I  will,  Melvina." 

"  Well,  that  settled,  what  are  you  going  to 
wear  ?" 

"  Something  plain  and  simple,  of  course.  But 
I  have  not  thought  of  that." 

"  0  don't  Caroline.  You  will  make  yourself 
singular." 

"  I  hope  not,  for  I  dislike  singularity.  But  how 
are  you  going  to  dress  ?  Splendid,  of  course,  as 
you  expect  to  make  a  sensation." 

"  I'll  try  my  best,  I  can  assure  you  ?" 

"  Well,  what  kind  of  a  dress  are  you  going  to 
appear  in  ?" 

"  I  have  ordered  a  robe  of  blue  tulle,  to  be 
worn  over  blue  silk.  The  robe  to  be  open  in 
front,  of  course,  and  confined  to  the  silk-skirt  with 
variegated  roses." 

"  And  your  head-dress  ?" 

"  I  shall  have  my  hair  ornamented  with  varie- 
gated roses,  arranged  over  the  brow  like  a  coronet 
Now,  how  do  you  like  that  ?"  w 

"  Not  at  all." 


MAKING  A  SENSATION.  305 

"  0,  of  course  not.     I  might  have  known  that 

your  taste  was  too  uneducated  for  that." 

"  And  I  hope  it  will  ever  remain  so,  Melvina." 
"  But  how  will  you  dress,  Caroline.    Do  let  me 

hear,  that  I  may  put  you  right  if  you  fix  on  any 

thing  outre." 

"  Well,  really,  Melvina,  I  have  not  given  the 

subject  a  thought.     But  it  never  takes  me  long  to 

choose.     Let  me  see.     A  plain *" 

"  Not  plain,  Caroline,  for  mercy  sake  !" 

"  .Yes.     A  plain  white  dress,  of  India  muslin." 

"  Plain  white  !     0,  don't  Caroline — let  me  beg 

of  you." 

"  Yes,  white  it  shall  be." 

"  Plain  white  !    Why  nobody  will  see  you  !" 

"  0,  yes.     Among  all  you  gay  butterflies,  I 

will  become  the  observed  of  all  observers,"  said, 

Caroline  laughing. 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself.     But  you  will  have 

some  pink  trimming,  will  you  not  ?" 

"  No,  not  a  flower,  nor  ribbon,  nor  cord,  nor 

tassel." 

"  You  will  be  an  object  of  ridicule." 
"  Not  in  a  polite  company  of  gentlemen  and  la- 
dies, I  hope !" 


306  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  No ;  but .  And  your  head-dress,  Caro- 
line. That  I  hope  will  atone  for  the  rest." 

"  No,  my  own  dark  hair,  plain " 

"  For  mercy  sake,  Caroline !  Not  plain." 

"  Yes,  my  hair  plain." 

"  And  no  ornament !" 

"  0,  yes — a  very  beautiful  one." 

"  Ah,  that  may  help  a  little.  A  ray  of  sunshine 
on  a  barren  waste. " 

"  A  simple  sprig  of  buds  and  half  blown 
flowers." 

"  The  color  ?" 

"  White,  of  course." 

'•  You  are  an  original,  Caroline.  But  I  suppose 
I  can't  make  you  change  your  taste  ?" 

'  I  hope  not,  Melvina." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  shall  be  compelled  to  throw 
you  so  far  in  the  shade,  my  little  Quakeress  friend. 
The  world  will  never  know  half  your  real  worth, 
Caroline.  You  are  hiding  your  light. 

"  Many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 
The  deep  unfatnomed  caves  of  ocean  bear — 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

And  as  she  repeated  these  lines,  applying  them 
to  her  friend,  Melvina  rose  to  depart. 

"  You  are  resolved  on  trying  to  make  a  sensa- 
tion, then  ?"  said  Caroline. 


MAKING  A  SENSATION.  307 

"  Of  course,  and  what  is  more,  I  will  succeed." 

"  And  win  Henry  Clarence  ?" 

"  I  hope  so.  He  must  be  made  of  sterner  stuff 
than  I  think  him,  if  I  do  not." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see." 

"  Yes,  we  will.  But  good-bye ;  I  must  go  to 
the  mantua-maker's  this  morning,  to  complete  ray 
orders." 

After  Melvina  Felton  had  gone,  Caroline  Gray's 
manner  changed  a  good  deal.  Her  cheek,  the 
color  of  which  had  heightened  during  her  conver- 
sation with  her  friend,  still  retained  its  beautiful 
glow,  but  the  expression  of  her  usually  calm  face 
was  changed,  and  slightly  marked  by  what  seemed 
troubled  thoughts.  She  sat  almost  motionless  for 
nearly  two  minutes,  and  then  rose  up  slowly  with 
a  slight  sigh,  and  went  to  her  chamber. 

It  was  early  on  the  same  evening  that  Henry 
Clarence,  the  subject  of  her  conversation  with 
Melvina,  called  in,  as  he  not  unfrequently  did,  to 
spend  an  hour  in  pleasant  conversation  with  Car- 
oline Gay.  He  found  her  in  the  parlor  reading- 

"  At  your  books,  I  see,"  he  remarked,  in  a 
pleasant  tone,  as  he  entered. 

"  Yes ;  I  find  my  thoughts  need  exciting  by 


308  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

contact  with  the  thoughts  of  others.     A  good 
book  helps  us  much  sometimes." 

"  You  were  reading  a  book  then.  May  I  ask 
its  author  ?" 

"  Degerando." 

"  You  are  right  in  calling  this  a  good  book, 
Caroline,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  title  page,  to 
which  she  had  opened,  as  she  handed  him  the 
volume.  "Self-education  is  a  most  important  mat- 
ter, and  with  such  a  guide  as  Degerando,  few  can 
go  wrong." 

"  'So  I  think.  He  is  not  so  abstract,  nor  does 
he  border  on  transcendentalism,  like  Coleridge, 
who  notwithstanding  these  peculiarities  I  am  yet 
fond  of  reading.  Degerando  opens  for  you  your 
own  heart,  and  not  only  opens  it,  but  gives  you 
the  means  of  self-control  at  every  point  of  your 
exploration." 

The  beautiful  countenance  of  Caroline  was  lit 
up  by  pure  thoughts,  and  Henry  Clarence  could 
not  help  gazing  upon  her  with  a  lively  feeling  of 
admiration. 

"  I  cannot  but  approve  your  taste,"  he  said. — 
"  But  do  you  not  also  read  the  lighter  works  of 
the  day  ?" 

"  I  do  not  certainly  pass  all  these  by.  I  would 


MAKING    A    SENSATION.  309 

lose  much  were  I  to  do  so.  But  I  read  only  a 
few,  and  those  emanating  from  such  minds  as 
James,  Scott,  and  especially  our  own  Miss  Sedg- 
wick.  The  latter  is  particularly  my  favorite. 
Her  pictures,  besides  being  true  to  nature,  are 
pictures  of  home.  The  life  she  sketches,  is  the 
life  that  is  passing  all  around  us — perhaps  in  the 
family,  unknown  to  us,  who  hold  the  relation  of 
next  door  neighbors." 

"  Your  discrimination  is  just.  After  reading 
Miss  Sedgwick,  our  sympathies  for  our  fellow 
creatures  take  a  more  humane  range.  We  are 
moved  by  an  impulse  to  do  good — to  relieve  the 
Buffering — to  regulate  our  own  action  in  regard 
to  others  by  a  higher  and  better  rule.  You  are 
A  reader  of  the  poets,  too — and  like  myself,  I 
believe,  are  an  admirer  of  Wordsworth's  calm 
And  deep  sympathy  with  the  better  and  nobler 
principles  of  our  nature." 

"  The  simple  beauty  of  Wordsworth  has  ever 
charmed  me.  How  much  of  the  good  and  true, 
fike  precious  jewels  set  in  gold,  are  scattered 
thickly  over  his  pages  !" 

"  And  Byron  and  Shelly — can  you  not  enjoy 
them  ?"  Clarence  asked,  with  something  of  lively 


310  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

interest  in  her  reply,  expressed  in  his   counte- 
nance. 

"  It  were  but  an  affectation  to  say  that  I  can 
find  nothing  in  them  that  is  beautiful,  nothing  to 
please,  nothing  to  admire.  I  have  read  many 
things  in  the  writings  of  these  men  that  were  ex 
quisitely  beautiful.  Many  portions  of  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage  are  not  surpassed  for  gran 
deur,  beauty,  and  force,  in  the  English  language : 
and  the  Alastor  of  Shelly,  is  full  of  passages  of 
exquisite  tenderness  and  almost  unequalled  finish 
of  versification.  But  I  have  never  laid  either  of 
them  down  with  feelings  that  I  wished  might 
remain.  They  excite  the  mind  to  a  feverish  and 
unhealthy  action.  We  find  little  in  them  to 
deepen  our  sympathies  with  our  fellows — little  to 
make  better  the  heart,  or  wiser  the  head." 

"  You  discriminate  with  clearness,  Caroline,' 
he  said;  "I  did  not  know  that  you  looked  so 
narrowly  into  the  merits  of  the  world's  favorites. 
But  to  change  the  subject ;  do  you  intend  going 
to  Mrs.  Walsingham's  next  week  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  will  be  there."    *' 

"  Are  you  fond  of  such  assemblages  ?"  the 
young  man  asked. 

"  Not  particularly  so,"  Caroline  replied.    "  But 


I 

MAKING    A    SENSATION.  311 

I  think  it  right  to  mingle  in  society,  although  all 
of  its  forms  are  not  pleasant  to  me." 

"  And  why  do  you  mingle  in  it  then,  if  its 
sphere  is  uncongenial  ?" 

"I  cannot  say,  Mr.  Clarence,  that  it  is  alto- 
gether uncongenial.  Wherever  we  go,  into  soci- 
ety, we  come  in  contact  with  much  that  is  good.  t 
Beneath  the  false  glitter,  often  assumed  and  worn 
without  the  heart's  being  in  it,  but  from  a  weak 
spirit  of  conformity,  lies  much  that  is  sound  in 
principle,  and  healthy  in  moral  life.  In  mingling, 
then,  in  society,  we  aid  to  develope  and  strengthen 
these  good  principles  in  others.  We  encourage, 
often,  the  weak  and  wavering,  and  bring  back 
such  as  are  beginning -to  wander  from  the  simple 
dignity  and  truth  of  nature." 

"  But  is  there  not  danger  of  our  becoming  daz- 
zled by  the  false  glitter  ?" 

"  There  may  be.  But  we  need  not  fear  this, 
if  we  settle  in  our  minds  a  right  principle  of  action, 
and  bind  ourselves  firmly  to  that  principle." 

A  pause  followed  this  last  remark,  and  then 
the  subject  of  conversation  was  again  changed  to 
one  of  a  more  general  nature. 

An  evening  or  two  after,  Henry  Clarence  called 
in  to  see  Melvina  Fenton.  Melvina  was  what  may 


312  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

be  called  a  showy  girl.  Her  countenance,  which 
was  really  beautiful,  when  animated,  attracted 
every  eye.  She  had  a  constant  flow  of  spirits,  had 
dipped  into  many  books,  and  could  make  a  little 
knowledge  in  these  matters  go  a  great  way. 
Clarence  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  he 
admired  Melvina,  and,  although  his  good  sense 
and  discrimination  opposed  this  admiration,  he 
could  rarely  spend  an  evening  wijth  Miss  Fenton, 
without  a  strong  prepossession  in  her  favor.  Still, 
with  her,  as  with  every  one,  he  maintained  a  con- 
sistency of  character  that  annoyed  her.  He  could 
not  be  brought  to  flatter  her  in  any  way ;  and  for 
this  she  thought  him  cold,  and  often  felt  under 
restraint  in  his  society.  One  thing  in  her  which 
he  condemned,  was  her  love  of  dress.  Often  he 
would  express  a  wonder  to  himself,  how  a  young 
woman  of  her  good  sense  and  information  could 
be  guilty  of  such  a  glaring  departure  from  true 
taste. 

On  this  evening  she  received  him  in  her  very 
best  manner.  And  she  was  skilful  at  acting;  so 
skilful,  as  even  to  deceive  the  keen  eye  of  Henry 
Clarence.  Fully  resolved  on  making  a  conquest, 
she  studied  his  character,  and  tried  to  adapt  her- 
self to  it. 


MAKIHGr    A    SENSATION.  313 

"  I  have  your  favorite  here,"  she  remarked, 
during  the  evening,  lifting  a  copy  of  Wordsworth 
from  the  centre  table. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  so  you  have.  Do  you  ever  look 
into  him,  Miss  Fenton  ?" 

"  0  yes.  I  did  not  know  what  a  treasure  was 
hid  in  this  volume,  until,  from  hearing  your  admi- 
ration of  Wordsworth,  I  procured  and  read  it 
with  delighted  interest." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  disappointed.  If 
you  have  a  taste  for  his  peculiar  style  of  thinking 
and  writing,  you  have  in  that  volume  an  inex- 
haustible source  of  pleasure," 

"  I  have  discovered  that,  Mr.  Clarence,  and 
must  thank  you  for  the  delight  I  have  received, 
and  I  hope  I -shall  continue  to  receive." 

Nearly  two  hours  were  spent  by  the  young 
man  in  the  company  of  Miss  Fenton,  when  he 
went  away,  more  prepossessed  in  her  favor  than 
he  had  yet  been.  She  had  played  her  part  to 
admiration.  The  truth  was,  Wordsworth,  except 
in  a  few  pieces,  she  had  voted  a  dull  book.  By 
tasking  herself,  she  had  mastered  some  passages, 
to  which  she  referred  during  the  evening,  and 
thus  obtained  credit  for  being  far  more  familiar 
with  the  poet  of  nature  than  she  ever  was  or  ever 
14 


314  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

would  be.  She  went  upon  the  principle  of  making 
a  sensation,  and  thus  carrying  hearts,  or  the  heart 
she  wished  to  assault,  by  storm. 
,  "  I  believe  that  I  really  love  that  girl,'1  Henry 
Clarence  said,  on  the  evening  before  the  party  at 
Mrs.  Walsingharn's  to  a  young  friend.  • 

"  Who,  Melvina  Fenton  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  She  is  certainly  a  beautiful  girl." 

"  And  interesting  and  intelligent." 

"  Yes — I  know  of  no  one  who,  in  comparison 
with  her,  bears  off  the  palrn." 

"  And  still,  there  is  one  thing  about  her  that  I 
do  not  like.  She  is  too  fond  of  dress  and 
display." 

"  0,  that  is  only  a  little  foible.  No  one  is  alto- 
gether perfect." 

"  True — and  the  fault  with  me  is,  in  looking 
fcfter  perfection." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  expect  too  much." 

"  She  is  affectionate,  and  that  will  make  up  foi 
many  deficiencies.  And  what  is  more,  I  can  see 
plainly  enough  that  her  heart  is  interested.  The 
brightening  of  her  cheek,  the  peculiar  expression 
of  her  eye,  not  to  be  mistaken,  when  certain  sub- 


MAKING   A    SENSATION.  315 

jeets  are  glanced  at,  convince  me  that  I  have  dnly 
to  woo  to  win  her." 

"  "What  do  you  think  of  Caroline  Gay  ?"  asked 
his  friend. 

"  "Well,  really* I  can  hardly  tell  what  to  think 
of  her.  She  has  intelligence,  good  sense,  and 
correct  views  on  almost  every  subject.  But  she 
is  the  antipodes  of  Melvina  in  feeling.  If  she  were 
not  so  calm  and  cold,  I  could  love  her  ;  but  I  do 
not  want  a  stoic  for  a  wife.  I  want  a  heart  that 
will  leap  to  my  own,  and  send  its  emotion  to  the 
cheek  and  eye." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  an  angel  in  this 
world,"  his  friend  said,  smiling. 

"  No,  nor  do  I  want  an  angel.  But  I  want  as 
perfect  a  woman  as  I  can  get."  „ 

"  You  will  have  to  take  Melvina,  then,  for  she 
has  three  exceeding  good  qualities,  at  least,  over- 
shadowing all  others." 

"  And  what  are  they  ?" 

"  Beauty." 

"  Well  ?" 

M  An  affectionate  heart." 

"  Something  to  be  desired  above  every  thing 
else.  And  her  next  good  quality  ?" 


316  HOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Her  father  is  worth  a  <  plum.' " 

"  I  would  dispense  with  that,  were  she  less 
fond  of  show,  and  effect,  and  gay  company." 

"  0,  they  are  only  the  accompaniments  of  girl- 
hood. As  a  woman  and  a  wife,  she  will  lay  them 
all  aside." 

"  I  should  certainly  hope  so,  were  I  going  to 
link  my  lot  with  hers." 

"  Why,  I  thought  your  mind  was  made  up." 

"  Not  positively.  I  must  look  on  a  little  longer, 
and  scan  a  little  closer  before  I  commit  myself." 

"  Well,  success  to  your  marrying  expedition. 
I  belong  yet  to  the  free  list." 

In  due  time  Mrs.  Walshingham's  splendid  af- 
fair came  off. 

"  Isn't  she  an  elegant  woman  1"  exclaimed  a 
young  man  in  an  under  tone,  to  a  friend,  who 
stood  near  Henry  Clarence,  as  Melvina  swept 
into  the  room  dressed  in  a  style  of  elegance  and 
effect  that  attracted  every  eye. 

"  Beautiful  1"  responded  his  companion.  "  I 
must  dance  with  her  to  night.  I  always  make 
a  point  to  have  one  round  at  least  with  the  belle 
of  the  ball-room." 

The  individual  who  last  spoke,  was  well  known 


MAKING    A    SENSATION.  317 

to  all  in  that  room  as  the  betrayer  of  innocence. 
And  Henry  Clarence  felt  his  cheek  burn  and  his 
heart  bound  with  an  indignant  throb  as  he  heard 
this  remark. 

"  He  will  be  disappointed,  or  I  am  mistaken," 
he  said  to  himself  as  the  two,  who  had  been  con- 
versing near  him,  moved  to  another  part  of  the 
room.  "  But  if  Melvina  Fenton  has  so  little  of 
that  sensitive  innocence,  that  shrinks  from  the 
presence  of  guilt  as  to  danfie  with  him,  and  suffer 
her  hand  to  be  touched  by  his,  my  mind  is  made 
up.  I  will  never  marry  her." 

'*  She  is  the  queen  of  beauty  to-night,  Clar- 
ence," said  a  friend  coming  to  Henry's  side,  and 
speaking  in  an  under  tone. 

"  She  is,  indeed,  very  beautiful ;  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  a  little  too  showy.  Her  dress  would 
be  very  good  for  the  occasion  were  those  varie- 
gated roses  taken  from  their  blue  ground. 
Flowers  never  grow  on  such  a  soil ;  and  her  head 
dress  is  by  far  too  conspicuous,  and  by  no  means 
in  good  taste." 

"  Why  you  are  critical  to-night,  Clarence.  I 
thought  Melvina  one  of  your  favorites?" 

"  I  must  confess  a  little  good  will  towards  her, 


318  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

and  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  of  my  being  some- 
what particular  in  my  observation  of  her  style  of 
dress.  Certainly,  she  makes  a  most  decided  sen- 
sation here  to-night ;  for  every  eye  is  upon  her, 
and  every  tongue,  that  I  have  yet  heard  speak  is 
teeming  with  words  of  admiration." 

"  That  she  does,"  responded  the  friend.  Every 
other  girl  in  the  room  will  be  dying  of  envy  or 
neglect  before  the  evening  is  over." 

"  That  would  speak  little  for  the  gallantry  of 
the  men  or  the  good  sense  of  the  young  ladies," 
was  the  quiet  reply. 

Several  times  the  eye  of  Henry  Clarence  wan- 
dered around  the  room  in  search  of  Caroline-  - 
but  he  did  not  see  her  in  the  gay  assemblage. 

"  She  told  me  she  would  be  here,"  he  mentally 
said, "  and  I  should  really  like  to  mark  the  contrast 
between  her  and  the  brilliant  Miss  Fenton.  Oh ! 
there  she  is,  as  I  live,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her 
father,  the  very  personification  of  innocence  and 
beauty.  But  her  face  is  too  calm  by  half.  I 
fear  she  is  cold." 

Truly  was  she  as  Henry  Clarence  had  said, 
the  personification  of  innocence  and  beauty.  Her 
dress  of  snowy  whiteness,  made  perfectly  plain, 
and  fitting  well  a  figure  that  was  rather  delicate, 


MAKING    A    SENSATION.  319 

but  of  exquisite  symmetry,  contrasted  beautifully 
with  the  gay  and  flaunting  attire  of  those  around 
her.  Her  head  could  boast  but  a  single  ornament, 
besides  her  own  tastefully  arranged  hair,  and 
that  was  a  sprig  of  buds  and  half-blown  flowers 
as  white  as  the  dress  she  had  chosen  for  the  even- 
ing. Her  calm  sweet  face  looked  sweeter  and 
more  innocent  than  ever,  for  the  contrast  of 
the  whole  scene  relieved  her  peculiar  beauty  ad- 
mirably. 

"  An  angel  ?"  ejaculated  a  young  man  by  the 
side  of  Clarence,  moving  over  towards  the  part  of 
the  room  where  Caroline  stood,  still  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  father. 

"  We  wanted  but  you  to  make  our  tableau 
complete,"  he  said,  with  a  graceful  bow.  Let 
me  relieve  you,  Mr.  Gay,  of  the  care  of  this  young 
lady,"  he  added  offering  his  arm  to  Caroline — 
and  in  the  next  minute  he  had  joined  the  prom- 
enade with  the  sweetest  creature  in  the  room  by 
his  side. 

The  beautiful  contrast  that  was  evident  to  all, 
between  Caroline,  the  plainest-dressed  maiden  in 
the  room,  and  Melvina  the  gayest  and  most  inv 
posing,  soon  drew  all  eyes  upon  the  former,  and 
Melvina  had  the  discrimination  to  perceive  that 


320  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

she  had  a  rival  near  the  throne,  in  one  whom  she 
little  dreamed  of  fearing ;  and  whose  innocent 
heart  she  knew  too  weU  to  accuse  of  design. 

Soon  cotillion  parties  were  formed,  and  among 
the  first  to  offer  his  hand  to  Melvina,  was  a  young 
man  named  Sheldon,  the  same  alluded  to  as  de- 
claring that  he  would  dance  with  her,  as  he  al- 
ways did  with  the  belle  of  the  ball  room.  Mel- 
vina knew  his  character  well,  and  Henry  Clarence 
was  aware  that  she  possessed  this  knowledge. 
His  eye  was  upon  her,  and  she  knew  it.  But 
she  did  not  know  of  the  determination  that  he 
formed  or  else  she  would  have  hesitated. 

"  The  most  splendid  man  in  the  room,  and  the 
most  graceful  dancer,"  were  the  thoughts  that 
glanced  through  her  mind,  as  she  smiled  an  assent 
to  his  invitation  to  become  his  partner.  "  I  shall 
not  yet  lose  my  power." 

And  now  all  eyes  were  again  upon  the  brilliant 
beauty  threading  the  mazy  circles,  with  glowing 
cheek  and  sparkling  eye.  And  few  thought  of 
blaming  her  for  dancing  with  Sheldon,  whose 
character  ought  to  have  .banished  him  from  virtu- 
ous society.  But  there  was  one  whose  heart 
sickened  as  he  looked,on,  and  that  one  was  Henry 
Clarence.  He  lingered  near  the  group  of  dancers 


MAKING  A  SENSATION.  321 

« 

but  a  few  minutes,  and.  then  wandered  away  to 
another  room. 

"  Permit  me  to  transfer  ray  company,  Mr.  Clar- 
ence," said  the  young  man  who  had  thus  far 
monopolized  the  society  of  Caroline  Gay.  "  I 
will  not  be  selfish ;  and  besides,  I  fear  I  am  be- 
coming too  dull  for  my  fair  friend  here." 

With  a  bow  and  a  smile,  Clarence  received  on 
his  arm  the  fair  girl.  He  felt  for  her  a  tenderer 
regard  than  had  heretofore  warmed  his  heart,  as 
he  strolled  through  the  rooms  and  listened  to  her 
sweet,  penetrating  voice.  And  whenever  he  turned 
and  looked  her  in  the  face,  he  saw  that  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes  which  he  had  never  marked 
before — something  of  tenderness  that  made  his 
own  heart  beat  with  a  quicker  motion.  As  they 
drew  near  the  dancers,  they  observed  Sheldon 
with  Melvina  leaning  on  his  arm,  and  two  or 
three  others,  engaged  in  maikng  up  another 
cotillion. 

"  "We  want  but  one  more  couple,  and  here  they 
are,"  said  Sheldon,  as  Clarence  and  Caroline 
came  up. 

"  Will  you  join  this  set  ?"  asked  Clarence,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  Not  this  one,"  she  replied. 


322  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  Miss  Gay  does  not  wish  to  dance  now,"  her 
companion  said,  and  they  moved  away. 

But  the  cotillion  was  speedily  formed  without 
them,  and  the  dance  proceeded. 

Half  an  hour  after,  while  Henry  Clarence  and 
Caroline  were  sitting  on  a  lounge,  engaged  in 
close  conversation,  Sheldon  came  up,  and  bowing 
in  his  m<5st  graceful  manner,  and,  with  his  bland- 
est smile,  said, 

• 

"  Can  I  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  Miss 

Gay,  this  evening  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  quiet,  firm  reply  of  the 
maiden,  while  she  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face. 

Sheldon  turned  hurriedly  away,  for  he  under- 
stood the  rebuke,  the  first  he  had  yet  met  with 
in  the  refined,  fashionable,  virtuous  society  of  one 
of  the  largest  of  the  Atlantic  cities. 

The  heart  of  Henry  Clarence  blessed  the 
maiden  by  his  side. 

"  You  are  not  averse  to  dancing,  Caroline  ?"  he 
said. 

"  0  no.     But  I  do  not  dance  with  every  one." 

"  In  that  you  are  right,  and  I  honor  your  deci- 
sion and  independence  of  character." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  she 
danced  several  times,  more  frequently  with  Henry 


MAKING    A    SENSATION.  323 

than  with  any  other,  but  never  in  a  cotillion  of 
which  Sheldon  was  one  of  the  partners.  Much 
to  the  pain  and  alarm  of  Melvina,  Clarence  did 
not  offer  to  dance  with  her  once  ;  and  long- before 
the  gay  assemblage  broke  up,  her  appearance 
had  failed  to  produce  any  sensation.  The  eye 
tired  of  viewing  her  gaudy  trapping,  and  turned 
away  unsatisfied.  But  let  Caroline  go  where  she 
would,  she  was  admired  by  all.  None  wearied 
of  her  chaste,  simple  and  beautiful  attire;  none 
looked  upon  her  mild,  innocent  face,  without  an 
expression,  tacit  or  aloud,  of  admiration.  Even 
the  rebuked,  and  for  a  time  angered,  Sheldon, 
could  not  help  ever  and  "anon  seeking  her  out 
amid  the  crowd,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  a 
'  feeling  of  respect  that  he  tried  in  vain  to  subdue. 
Melvina  had  sought  to  produce  a  "  sensation" 
by  gay  and  imposing  attire,  and  after  a  brief  and 
partial  success,  lost  her  power.  But  Caroline, 
with  no  wish  to  be  noticed,  much  less  to  be  the 
reigning  belle  of  the  evening,  consulting  her  own 
pure  taste,  went  in  simple  garments,  and  won  the 
spontaneous  admiration  of  all,  and,  what  was 
more,  the  heart  of  Henry  Clarence.  He  never, 
after  that  evening,  could  feel  any  thing  of  his 
former  tenderness  towards  Melvina  Felton.  The 


324  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

veil  had  fallen  from  his  eyes.  He  saw  the  differ- 
ence between  the  desire  of  admiration,  and  a  sim- 
ple love  of  truth  and  honor,  too  plainly,  to  cause 
him  to  hesitate  a  moment  longer  in  his  choice  be- 
tween two  so  opposite  in  their  characters.  And 
yet,  to  the  eye  of  an  inattentive  observer  nothing 
occurred  during  the  progress  of  Mrs.  Walshing- 
ham's  party  more  than  ordinarily  takes  place  on 
such  occasions.  All  seemed  pleased  and  happy, 
and  Melvina  the  happiest  of  the  whole.  And 
yet  she  had  signally  failed  in  her  well-laid  scheme 
to  take  the  heart  of  Henry  Clarence — while  Car- 
oline, with  no  such  design,  and  in  simply  follow- 
ing the  promptings  of  a  pure  heart  and  a  right 
taste,  had  won  his  affectionate  regard. 

It  was  some  three  or  four  months  after  the 
party  at  Mrs.  Walshingham's,  that  Melvina  Fen- 
ton  and  Caroline  Gay  were  alone  in  the  chamber 
of  the  latter,  in  close  and  interested  conversation. 

"  I  have  expected  as  much,"  the  former  said,  in 
answer  to  some  communication  made  to  her  by  the 
latter. 

"  Then  you  are  not  surprised  ?" 

1  Not  at  all." 

"  And  I  hope  not  pained  by  the  intelligence  ?" 

"  No,  Caroline,  not  now,"  her  friend  said,  smil- 


MAKING   A    SENSATION.  325 

ing ;  "  though  two  or  three  months  ago  it  would 
have  almost  killed  me.  I,  too,  have  been  wooed 
and  won." 

"  Indeed  !  That  is  news.  And  who  is  it,  Mel- 
vina  ?  I  am  eager  to  know." 

"  Martin  Colburn." 

"  A  gentleman,  and  every  way  worthy  of  your 
hand.  But  how  in  the  world  comes  it  that  so 
quiet  and  modest  a  young  man  as  Martin  has  now 
the  dashing  belle  ?" 

"It  has  occurred  quite  naturally,  Caroline. 
The  dashing  belle  has  gained  a  little  more  good 
sense  than  she  had  a  few  months  ago.  She  has 
not  forgotten  the  party  at  Mrs.  "Walsaingham's. 
And  by  the  bye,  Caroline,  how  completely  you 
out-generalled  me  on  that  occasion.  I  had  a  great 
mind  for  a  while  never  to  forgive  you." 

"  You  are  altogether  mistaken,  Melvina,"  Caro- 
line said,  with  a  serious  air.  "  I  did  not  act  a 
part  on  that  occasion.  I  went  but  in  my  true 
character,  and  exhibited  no  other." 

"  It  was  nature,  then,  eclipsing  art;  truth  of 
character  outshining  the  glitter  of  false  assump- 
tion. But  all  that  is  past,  and  I  am  wiser  and 
better  for  it,  I  hope.  You  will  be  happy,  I  know, 
with  Henry  Clarence,  for  he  is  worthy  of  you, 


326  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

and  can  appreciate  your  real  excellence ;  and  1 
shall  be  happy,  I  trust,  with  the  man  of  my 
choice." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  Melvina.  And  by  the  way," 
Caroline  said,  laughing,  "  we  shall  make  another 
1  sensation,'  and  then  we  must  be  content  to  retire 
into  peaceful  domestic  obscurity.  You  will  have 
a  brilliant  time,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  0  yes.  I  must  try  my  hand  at  creating  one 
more  sensation,  the  last  and  most  imposing ;  and, 
as  my  wedding  comes  the  first,  you  must  be  my 
bridesmaid.  You  will  not  refuse  ?" 

"  Not  if  we  can  agree  as  to  how  we  are  to  dress1 
We  ought  to  be  alike  in  this,  and  yet  I  can  never 
consent  to  appear  in  any  thing  but  what  is  plain, 
and  beautiful  for  its  simplicity." 

"  You  shall  arrange  all  these.  You  beat  me 
the  last  time  in  creating  a  sensation,  and  now  I 
will  give  up  to  your  better  taste." 

And  rarely  has  a  bride  looked  sweeter  than  did 
Melvina  Fenton  on  her  wedding-day.  Still,  she 
was  eclipsed  by  Caroline,  whose  native  grace  ac- 
corded so  well  with  her  simple  attire,  that  who- 
ever looked  upon  her,  looked  again,  and  to  ad- 
mire. The  "sensation"  they  created  was  not 
soon  forgotten. 


MAKING  A  SENSATION.  327 

Caroline  was  married  in  a  week  after,  and  then 
the  fair  heroines  of  our  story  passed  from  the 
notice  of  the  fashionable  world,  and  were  lost 
with  the  thousands  who  thus  yearly  desert  the 
gay  circles,  and  enter  the  quiet  sphere  and  sweet 
obscurity  of  domestic  life. 


SOMETHING-  FOR   A    COLD. 


"  Henry,"  said  Mr.  Green  to  his  little  son 
Henry,  a  lad  in  his  eighth  year,  "  I  want  you  to 
go  to  the  store  for  me." 

Mr.  Green  was  a  working-man,  who  lived  in  a 
comfortable  cottage,  which  he  had  built  from 
money  earned  from  honest  industry.  He  was, 
moreover,  a  sober,  kind-hearted  man,  well  liked 
by  all  his  neighbors,  and  beloved  by  his  own 
family. 

"  I'm  ready,  father,"  said  Henry,  who  left  his 
play,  and  went  to  look  for  his  cap,  the  moment 
he  was  asked  to  go  on  an  errand. 


SOMETHING    FOR    A    COLD.  329 

"  Look  in  the  cupboard,  and  get  the  pint  flask. 
It's  on  the  lower  shelf." 

Henry  did  as  desired,  and  then  asked — "  What 
shall  I  get,  father  ?" 

"  Tell  Mr.  Brady  to  send  me  a  pint  of  good 
Irish  whiskey." 

The  boy  tripped  lightly  away,  singing  as  he 
went.  He  was  always  pleased  to  do  an  errand 
for  his  father. 

"  This  cold  of  mine  gets  worse,"  remarked  Mr. 
Green  to  his  wife,  as  Henry  left  the  house.  "  I 
believe  I'll  try  old  Mr.  Vandeusen's  remedy — a 
bowl  of  hot  whiskey-punch.  He  says  it  always 
cures  him ;  it  throws  him  into  a  free  perspiration, 
and  the  next  morning  he  feels  as  clear  as  a  bell." 

"  It  is  not  always  good,"  remarked  Mrs.  Green, 
"  to  have  the  pores  open.  We  are  more  liable  to 
take  cold." 

"  Very  true.  It  is  necessary  to  be  careful  how 
we  expose  ourselves  afterwards." 

"  I  think  I  can  make  you  some  herb-tea,  that 
would  do  you  as  much  good  as  the  whiskey 
punch,"  said  Mrs.  Green. 

"Perhaps  you  could,"  returned  her  husband, 
"  but  I  don't  like  your  bitter  stuff.  It  never  was 
to  my  fancy." 


330  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Mrs.  Green  smiled,  and  said  no  more. 
.     "  A  few  moments  afterwards,  the  door  opened 
and  Henry  came  in,  looking  pale  and  frightened. 

"  Oh,  father  !"  he  cried,  panting,  "  Mr.  Brooks 
is  killing  Margaret !" 
.      "  What !"     Mr.  Green  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  the  child,  "  he's  killing  her  I 
he's  killing  her !  I  saw  him  strike  her  on  the 
head  with  his  fist."  And  tears  rolled  over  the 
boy's  cheeks. 

Knowing  Brooks  to  be  a  violent  man  when  in- 
toxicated, Mr.  Green  lost  not  a  moment  in  hesi- 
tation or  reflection,  but  left  his  house  hurriedly, 
and  ran  to  the  dwelling  of  his  neighbor,  which 
was  near  at  hand.  On  entering  the  house,  a  sad 
scene  presented  itself.  The  oldest  daughter  of 
Brooks,  a  girl  in  her  seventeenth  year,  was  lying 
upon  a  bed,  insensible,  while  a  large  bruised  and 
bloody  spot  on  the  side  of  her  face  showed  where 
the  iron  fist  of  her  brutal  father  had  done  its  fear- 
ful if  not  fatal  work.  Her  mother  bent  over  her, 
weeping;  while  two  little  girls  were  shrinking 
with  frightened  looks  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Green  looked  around  for  the  wretched 
man,  who,  in  the  insanity  of  drunkenness,  had 


SOMETHING   FOR    A    COLD.  331 

done  this  dreadful  deed  ;  but  he  was  not  to  be 
seen. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Brooks  ?"  he  asked. 

"  He  has  gone  for  the  doctor,"  was  replied. 

And  in  a  few  minutes  he  came  in  with  a  phy- 
sician. He  was  partially  sobered,  and  his  coun- 
tenance had  a  troubled  expression.  His  eyes 
shrunk  beneath  the  steady,  rebuking  gaze  of  his 
neighbors. 

"  Did  you  say  your  daughter  had  fallen  down 
stairs  ?"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  leaned  over  Mar- 
garet, and  examined  the  dreadful  bruise  on  her 
cheek. 

"  Yes — yes,"  stammered  the  guilty  father,  ad- 
ding this  falsehood  to  the  evil  act 

"  Had  the  injury  been  a  few  inches  farther  up, 
she  would  ere  this  have  breathed  her  last,"  said 
the  doctor — looking  steadily  at  Brooks,  until  the 
eyes  of  the  latter  sunk  to  the  floor. 

Just  then  there  were  signs  of  returning  life  in 
the  poor  girl,  and  the  doctor  turned  towards  her 
all  his  attention.  In  a  little  while,  she  began  to 
moan,  and  moved  her  arms  about,  and  soon  open- 
ed her  eyes. 

After  she  was  fully  restored  again  to  conscious 
life,  Mr.  Green  returned  to  his  home,  where  he 


332       HOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 

was  met  with  eager  questions  from  his  wife. — . 
After  describing  all  he  had  seen,  lie  made  this 
remark — 

"  There  are  few  better  men  than  Thomas  Brooks 
when  he  it  sober ;  but  when  he  is  drunk  he  acts 
like  a  demon." 

"  He  must  be  a  demon  to  strike  with  his  hard 
fist,  a  delicate  creature  like  his  daughter  Marga- 
ret. And  she  is  so  good  a  girl.  Ah,  me !  to  what 
dreadful  consequences  does  this  drinking  lead  !" 

"It  takes  away  a  man's  reason,"  said  Mr. 
Green,  "  and  when  this  is  gone,  he  becomes  the 
passive  subject  of  evil  influences.  He  is,  in  fact, 
no  longer  a  man." 

Mrs.  Green  sighed  deeply. 

"  His  poor  wife  !"  she  murmured ;  "  how  my 
heart  aches  for  her,  and  his  poor  children  !  If  the 
husband  and  father  changes,  from  a  guardian 
and  provider  for  his  family,  into  their  brutal  as- 
sailant, to  whom  can  they  look  for  protection  ? 
Oh,  it  is  sad  !  sad  !" 

"  It  is  dreadful !  dreadful !"  said  Mr.  Green. — 

"  It  is  only  a  few  years  ago,"  he  added,  "  since 
Brooks  began  to  show  that  he  was  drinking  too 
freely.  He  always  liked  his  glass,  but  he  knew 
how  to  control  himself,  and  never  drowned  his 


8OMETHING    FOR    A    COLD.  333 

reason  in  his  cups.  Of  late,  however,  he  seems 
to  have  lost  all  control  over  himself.  I  never 
saw  a  man  abandon  himself  so  suddenly." 

"  All  effects  of  this  kind  can  be  traced  back  to 
very  small  beginnings,"  remarked  Mrs.  Green. 

"  Yes.  A  man  does  not  become  a  drunkard  in 
a  day.  The  habit  is  one  of  very  gradual  forma- 
tion." 

"  But  when  once  formed,"  said  Mrs.  Green, 
"  hardly  any  power  seems  strong  enough  to  break 
it.  It  clings  to  a  man  as  if  it  were  a  part  of 
himself." 

"  And  we  might  almost  say  that  it  was  a  part 
of  himself,"  replied  Mr.  Green  :  "for  whatever  we 
do  from  a  confirmed  habit,  fixes  in  the  mind  an 
inclination  thereto,  that  carries  us  away  as  a  ves- 
sel is  borne  upon  the  current  of  a  river." 

"  How  careful,  then,  should  every  one  be,  not 
to  put  himself  in  the  way  of  forming  so  dangerous 
a  habit.  Well  do  I  remember  when  Mr.  Brooks 
•was  married.  A  more  promising  young  man 
could  not  be  found — nor  one  with  a  kinder  heart. 
The  last  evil  I  feared  for  him  and  his  gentle  wife 
was  that  of  drunkenness.  Alas !  that  this  calam- 
ity should  have  fallen  upon  their  household. — 
What  evil,  short  of  crime,  is  greater  than  this  ?" 


334  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  It  is  so  hopeless,"  remarked  Mr.  Green.  "  I 
have  talked  with  Brooks  a  good  many  times,  but 
it  has  done  no  good.  He  promises  amendment, 
but  does  not  keep  his  promise  a  day." 

"  Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not.  This  is  the 
only  safe  rule,"  said  Mrs.  Green.  B- 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it,"  returned  her  husband. — 
"  The  man  who  never  drinks  is  in  no  danger  of 
becoming  a  drunkard." 

For  some  time,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Green 'continued 
to  converse  about  the  sad  incident  which  had  just 
transpired  in  the  family  of  their  neighbor,  while 
their  little  son,  upon  whose  mind  the  fearful 
sight  he  had  witnessed  was  still  painfully  vivid, 
sat  and  listened  to  all  they  were  saying,  with 
a  clear  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  the 
whole.  - 

After  awhile  the  subject  was  dropped.  There 
had  been  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  when  the  at- 
tention of  Mr.  Green  was  again  called  to  certain 
unpleasant  bodily  sensations,  and  he  said — 

"  I  declare  !  this  cold  of  mine  is  very  bad.  I 
must  do  something  to  break  it  before  it  gets 
worse.  Henry,  did  you  get  that  Irish  whiskey  I 
sent  for  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  child,  "  I  was  so  fright- 


,  SOMETHING    FOR    A    COLD.  335 

ened  when  I  saw  Mr.  Brooks  strike  Margaret, 
that  I  ran  back." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  wonder  !  It  was  dreadful. 
Mr.  Brooks  was  very  wicked  to  do  so.  But  take 
the  flask  and  run  over  to  the  store.  Tell  Brady 
that  I  want  a  pint  of  good  Irish  whiskey." 

Henry  turned  from  his  father,  and  went  to  the 
table  on  which  he  had  placed  the  flask.  He  did 
not  move  with  his  usual  alacrity. 

"  It  was  whiskey,  wasn't  it,"  said  the  child,  as 
he  took  the  bottle  in  his  hand,  "  that  made  Mr. 
Brooks  strike  Margaret?"  And  he  looked  so 
earnestly  into  his  father's  face,  and  with  so  strange 
an  expression,  that  the  man  felt  disturbed,  while 
he  yet  wondered  at  the  manner  of  the  lad. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Green,  "  it  was  the  whis- 
key. Mr.  Brooks,  if  he  had  been  sober,  would 
not  have  hurt  a  hair  of  her  head." 

Henry  looked  at  the  bottle,  then  at  his  father, 
in  so  strange  a  way,  that  Mr.  Green,  who  did  not 
at  first  comprehend  what  was  in  the  child's 
thoughts  wondered  still  more.  All  was  soon 
understood,  for  Harry,  bursting  into  tears,  laid 

« 

down  the  flask,  and,  throwing  his  arms  around 
his  father's  neck,  said — 

"  Ob,  father  !  don't  get  any  whiskey  !" 


336  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  • 

Mr.  Green  deeply  touched  by  the  incident, 
hugged  his  boy  tightly  to  his  bosom.  He  said— 

"  I  only  wanted  it  for  medicine,  dear.  But, 
never  mind.  I  won't  let  such  dangerous  stuff 
come  into  my  house.  Mother  shall  make  me  some 
of  her  herb-tea,  and  that  will  do  as  well." 

Henry  looked  up,  after  a  while,  timidly. — 
"  You're  not  angry  with  me,  father  ?"  came  from 
his  innocent  lips. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  child !  "Why  should  I  be  angry  ?' 
replied  Mr.  Green,  kissing  the  cheek  of  his  boy 
Then  the  sunshine  came  back  again  to  Henry's 
heart,  and  he  was  happy  as  before. 

Mrs.  Green  made  the  herb-tea  for  her  husband, 
and  it  proved  quite  as  good  for  him  as  the  whis- 
key-punch. A  glass  or  two  of  cold  water,  on 
going  to  bed,  would  probably  have  been  of  more 
real  advantage  in  the  case,  than  either  of  these 
doubtful  remedies. 


THE    POKTKAIT. 


"  BLESS  the  happy  art !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton, wiping  the  moisture  from  her  eyes.  "  Could 
anything  be  more  perfect  than  that  likeness  of  his 
sweet,  innocent  face  ?  Dear  little  Willie !  I  fear 
I  love  him  too  much." 

"  It  is  indeed  perfect,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  after 
viewing  the  picture  in  many  lights.  "  My  favour- 
ite painter  has  surpassed  himself.  What  could  be 
more  like  life,  than  that  gentle,  half-pensive  face 
looking  so  quiet  and  thoughtful,  and  yet  so  full  of 
childhood's  most  innocent,  happy  expression  •?" 

Mr.  Morton,  here  introduced  to  the  reader,  was 
15 


338  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

a  wealthy  merchant  of  Philadelphia,  and  a  liber- 
a.  patron  of  the  arts.  He  had,  already,  obtained 
several  pictures  from  Sully,  who  was,  with  him, 
as  an  -artist,  a  great  favourite.  The  last  order 
had  just  been  sent  home.  It  was  a  portrait  of 
his  youngest,  and  favourite  child — a  sweet  little 
boy,  upon  whose  head  three  summers  had  not 
yet  emiled. 

"  I  would  not  take  the  world  for  it !"  said  Mrs. 
Morton  after  looking  at  it  long  and  steadily  for 
the  hundredth  time.  "  Dear  little  fellow  !  A  year 
from  now,  and  how  changed  he  will  be.  And 
every  year  he  will  be  changing  and  changing ;  but 
this  cannot  alter,  and  even  from  the  period  of 
manhood,  we  may  look  back  and  see  our  Willie's 
face  when  but  a  child." 

"  Every  one  who  is  able,"  remarked  Mr.  Mor- 
ton, "  should  have  the  portraits  of  his  children 
taken.  What  better  legacy  could  a  father  leave 
to  his  child,  than  the  image  of  his  own  innocent 
face  1  Surely,  it  were  enough  to  drive  away 
thoughts  of  evil,  and  call  up  old  and  innocent  af- 
fections, for  any  man,  even  the  man  of  crime,  to 
look  for  but  a  moment  upon  the  image  of  what  he 
was  in  childhood." 

"  And  yet  there  are  some,"  added  Mrs.  Mor-. 


THE   PORTRAIT.  339 

ton,  "  who  call  portraits,  and  indeed,  all  paintings, 
mere  luxuries — meaning,  thereby,  something  that 
is  utterly  useless." 

"  Yes,  there  are  such,  but  even  they,  it  seems 
to  me,  might  perceive  their  use  in  preserving  the 
innocent  features  of  their  children.  The  good 
impressions  made  in  infancy  and  childhood,  are 
rarely  if  ever  lost ;  they  come  back  upon  every 
one  at  times,  and  are,  frequently,  all-powerful  in 
the  influence  they  exert  against  evil.  How  like  a 
spell  to  call  back  those  innocent  thoughts  and  af- 
fections, would  be  the  image  of  a  man's  face  in 
childhood  !  No  one,  it  seems  to  me,  could  resist 
its  influence." 

One,  two,  and  three  years  passed  away,  and 
every  one  wrought  some  change  upon  '  little 
Willie,"  but  each  change  seemed  to  the  fond  pa- 
rents an  improvement, — yet,  did  they  not  look 
back  to  earlier  years,  as  they  glanced  at  his  pic- 
ture, with  less  of  tender  emotion,  and  heart-stir- 
ring delight.  But  now  a  sad  change,  the  q^ddest 
of  all  changes  that  occur,  took  place.  Disease 
fastened  upon  the  child,  and  ere  the  parents,  and 
fond  sisters  of  a  younger  and  only  brother,  were 
fully  sensible  of  danger,  the  spirit  of  the  child  had, 
fled.  We  will  not  linger  to  pain  the  reader  with 


340  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

any  minute  description  of  the  deep  and  abiding 
grief  that  fell,  like  a  shadow  from  an  evil  wing 
overspreading  them,  upon  the  household  of  Mr. 
Morton,  but  pass  on  to  scenes  more  exciting,  if 
not  less  moving  to  the  heart. 

For  many  weeks,  Mrs.  Morton  could  not  trust 
herself  to  look  up  to  the  picture  that  still  hung  in 
its  place,  the  picture  of  her  lost  one.  But  after 
time  had,  in  some  degree,  mellowed  the  grief  that 
weighed  down  her  spirits,  she  found  a  melancholy 
delight  in  gazing«intently  upon  the  beautiful  face 
that  was  still  fresh  and  unchanged — that  still 
looked  the  impersonation  of  innocence. 

"  He  was  too  pure  and  too  lovely  for  the 
earth,"  she  said,  one  day,  to  her  husband,  about 
two  months  after  his  death,  leaning  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder — "  and  so  the  angels  took  him." 

"Then  do  not  grieve  for  him,"  Mr.  Morton  replied 
in  a  soothing  tone.  "We  know  that  he  is  with 
the  angels,  and  where  they  are,  is  neither  evil,  nor 
sorrow,  nor  pain.  Much  as  I  loved  him,  much  as 
I  grieved  for  his  loss,  I  would  not  recall  him  if  I 
could.  But,  our  picture  cannot  die.  And  though 
it  is  mute  and  inanimate,  yet  it  is  something  to 
awaken  remembrances,  that,  even  though  sad,  we 


THE    PORTRAIT.  341 

delight  to  cherish.  It  is  something  to  remind  us 
that  we  have  a  child  in  heaven." 

But  the  loss  of  their  child  seemed  but  the  be- 
ginning of  sorrows  to  Mr.  Morton  and  his  family. 
An  unexpected  series  of  failures  in  business  so 
fatally  involved  him,  that  extrication  became  im- 
possible. He  was  an  honest  man,  and  therefore, 
this  sudden  disastrous  aspect  of  affairs  was  doubly 
painful,  for  he  knew  no  other  course  but  the  hon- 
ourable giving  up  of  everything.  On  learning  the 
whole  truth  in  relation  to  his  business,  he  came 
home,  and  after  opening  the  sad  news  to  his  wife, 
he  called  his  family  around  him. 

"  My  dear  children,"  he  said,  "  I  have  painful 
news  to  break  to  you ;  but  you  cannot  know  it 
too  soon.  Owing  to  a  succession  of  heavy  fail- 
ures, my  business  has  become  embarrassed  be- 
yond hope.  I  must  give  up  all, — even  our  com- 
fortable and  elegant  home  must  be  changed  for 
one  less  expensive,  and  less  comfortable.  Can 
you,  my  children,  bear  with  cheerfulness  and  con- 
tentment such  a  changed  condition  ?" 

The  heart  of  each  one  had  already  been  subdued 
and  chastened  by  the  affliction  that  removed  the 
little  playmate  of  all  so  suddenly  away,  and  now 
the  news  of  a  painful  and  unlooked-for  reverse 


342  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

came  with  a  shock  that,  for  a  few  moments,  bewil 
dered  and  alarmed. 

"  Are  not  my  children  willing  to  share  the  good 
and  evil  of  life  with  their  father  ?"  Mr.  Morton  re- 
sumed after  the  gush  of  tears  that  followed  the 
announcement  of  his  changed  fortunes  had  in  a 
degree  subsided. 

"  Yes,  dear  father  1  be  they  what  they  may," 
Constance,  the  eldest,  a  young  lady  in  her  seven- 
teenth year,  said,  looking  up  affectionately  through 
her  tears. 

Mary,  next  in  years,  pressed  up  to  her  father's 
side,  and  twining  an  arm  around  his  neck,  kissed 
his  forehead  tenderly.  She  did  not  speak;  for 
her  heart  was  too  full ;  but  it  needed  no  words  to 
assure  him  that  her  love  was  as  true  as  the  needle 
to  the  pole. 

Eliza,  but  twelve,  and  like  an  unfolding  bud 
half  revealing  the  loveliness  and  beauty  within, 
could  not  fully  comprehend  the  whole  matter. 
But  enough  she  did  understand,  to  know  that  her 
father  was  in  trouble,  and  this  brought  her  also 
to  his  side. 

"  Do  not  think  of  us,  dear  father  !u  Constance 
said,  after  the  pause  of  a  few  oppressive  mo- 
ments. "  Let  the  change  be  what  it  may,  it  cannot 


THE   PO&TRA1T.  543 

take  from  us  our  father's  love,  and  our  father's 
honourable  principles.  Nor  can  it  change  the 
true  affection  of  his  children.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
say,  With  my  father  I  could  go  unto  prison  or  to 
death." 

The  father  was  much  moved.  "  That  trial,  my 
dear  children,  I  trust  you  may  never  be  called 
upon  to  meet.  The  whole  extent  of  the  painful 
one  into  which  you  are  about  to  enter,  you  can- 
not now  possibly  realize,  and  I  earnestly  hope 
that  your  hearts  may  not  fail  you  while  passing 
through  the  deep  waters.  But  one  thought  may 
strengthen ;  think  that  by  your  patience  and 
cheerfulness,  your  father's  burdens  will  be  light- 
ened. He  cannot  see  you  pained  without  suffer- 
ing a  double  pang  himself." 

"  Trust  us,  father,"  was  the  calm,  earnest, 
affectionate  reply  of  Constance ;  and  it  was  plain, 
by  the  deep  resolution  expressed  in  the  faces  of 
her  sisters,  that  she  spoke  for  them  as  well  as 
herself. 

And  now,  the  shadow  that  was  obscuring  their 
earthly  prospects,  began  to  fall  thicker  upon 
them.  At  the  meeting  of  his  creditors  which 
was  called,  he  gave  a  full  statement  of  bis  affairs 


344  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "I  am  here  to  assign 
everything.  In  consequence  of  heavy,  and  you 
all  must  see,  unavoidable,  losses,  this  assignment 
will  include  all  my  property,  and  still  leave  a 
small  deficiency.  Beyond  that,  I  can  only  hopo 
for  success  in  my  future  exertions,  and  pledge 
that  success  in  anticipation.  Can  I  do  more  ?" 

"  We  could  not  ask  for  more  certainly,"  was 
the  cold  response  of  a  single  individual,  made  in 
a  tone  of  voice  implying  no  sympathy  with  the 
debtor's  misfortunes,  but  rather  indicating  disap- 
pointment that  the  whole  amount  of  his  claim 
could  not  be  made  out  of  the  assets. 

Some  degree  of  sympathy,  some  kind  consid- 
eration for  his  painful  condition  Mr.  Morton  nat- 
urally looked  for,  but  nearly  every  kind  emotion 
for  him  was  stifled  by  the  sordid  disappointment 
which  each  one  of  his  former  business  friends  felt 
in  losing  what  they  valued,  as  their  feelings  indi- 
cated, above  everything  else — their  money. 

"  When  will  the  assignment  be  made  ?"  was  the 
next  remark. 

"  Appoint  your  trustees,  and  I  am  ready  at  any 
moment." 

Trustees  were  accordingly  appointed,  and  these 
had  a  private  conference  with,  and  received  their 


THE  PORTRAIT.  345 

instructions  from  the  creditors.  In  a  week  they 
commenced  their  work  of  appraisement.  After  a 
thorough  and  careful  examination  into  accounts, 
deeds,  mortgages,  and  documents  of  various  kinds, 
and  becoming  satisfied  that  every  thing  was  as 
Mr.  Morton  had  stated  it,  it  was  found  that  the 
property  represented  by  these  would  cover  ninety 
cents  in  the  dollar. 

"  Tour  furniture  and  plate  comes  next,"  said 
one  of  the  trustees. 

Mr.  Morton  bowed  and  said,  while  his  heart 
sunk  in  his  bosom — 

"  To-morrow  I  will  be  ready  for  that.' 

"  But  why  not  to-day  ?"  inquired  one  of  the 
trustees.  "  We  are  anxious  to  get  through  with 
this  unpleasant  business." 

"  I  said  to-morrow,"  Mr.  Morton  replied, 
while  a  red  spot  burned  upon  his  cheek. 

The  trustees  looked  at  each  other,  and  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Surely,"  said  the  debtor, "  you  cannot  hesitate 
to  let  me  have  a  single  day  in  which  to  prepare 
my  family  for  so  painful  a  duty  as  that  which  is 
required  of  me." 

"  We  should  suppose,"  remarked  one  of  the 

15* 


346  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

trustees,  in  reply,  "  that  your  family  were  already 
prepared  for  that."  , 

The  debtor  looked  the  last  speaker  searchingly 
in  the  face  for  some  moments,  and  then  said,  as 
if  satisfied  with  the  examination — 

"  Then  you  are  afraid  that  I  will  make  way,  in 
the  mean  time,  with  some  of  my  plate  !" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Mr.  Morton.  But,  you 
know  we  are  under  oath  to  protect  the  interest  of 
the  creditors." 

An  indignant  reply  trembled  on  the  lips  of 
Morton,  but  he  curbed  his  feelings  with  a  strong 
effort. 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  he  said,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  hurried  self-communion.  "  The  sooner 
it  is  over  the  better." 

Half  an  hour  after  he  entered  his  house  with 
the  trustees,  and  sworn  appraiser.  He  left  them 
in  the  parlour  below,  while  he  held  a  brief  but 
painful  interview  with  his  family. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  dear  father !"  Con- 
stance said,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
We  expected  this,  and  have  fully  nerved  our- 
selves for  the  trial." 

"May  he  who  watches  over   and  regards  us 


THE  PORTRAIT.  347 

all,  bless  you,  my  children  !"  the  father  said  with 
emotion,  and  hurriedly  left  them. 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  costly  furniture  that 
adorned  the  parlours  was  first  taken.  The  plate 
was  then  displayed,  rich  and  beautiful,  and  val- 
ued ;  .and  then  the  trustees  lifted  their  eyes  to  the 
wall — they  were  connoisseurs  in  the  fine  arts ;  at 
least  one  of  them  was,  but  a  taste  for  the  arts 
had,  in  his  case,  failed  to  soften  his  feelings.  He 
looked  at  a  picture  much  as  a  dealer  in  precious 
stones  looks  at  a  diamond,  to  determine  its  money- 
value. 

"  That  is  from  Guido,"  he  said,  looking  admi- 
ringly at  a  sweet  picture,  which  had  always  been 
a  favourite  of  Mr.  Morton's,  "  and  it  is  worth  a 
hundred  dollars." 

"  Shall  I  put  it  down  at  that  ?"  asked  the  ap- 
praiser, who  had  little  experience  in  valuing 
pictures. 

"  Yes ;  put  it  down  at  one  hundred.  It  will 
bring  that  under  the  hammer,  any  day,"  replied 
the  connoisseur.  "  Ah,  what  have  we  here  ?" 
A  copy  from  Murillo's  'Good  Shepherd.'  Isn't 
that  a  lovely  picture?  Worth  a  hundred  and 
fifty,  every  cent.  And  here  is  'Our  Saviour, 
from  Da  Vinci's  celebrated  picture  of  the  Last 


348  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Supper ;  and  a '  Magdalen'  from  Correggio.  You 
are  a  judge  of  pictures,  I  see,  Mr.  Morton  !  But 
what  is  this  ?"  he  said,  eyeing  closely  a  large  en- 
graving, richly  framed. 

"  A  proof,  as  I  live  !  from  the  only  plate  worth 
looking  at  of  Raphael's  Madonna  of  St.  Sixtus. 
I'll  give  fifty  dollars  for  that,  myself." 

The  pictures  named  were  all  entered  up  by  the 
appraiser,  and  then  the  group  continued  their  ex- 
amination. 

"  Here  is  a  Sully,"  remarked  the  trustee  above 
alluded  to,  pausing  before  Willie's  portrait. 

"  But  that  is  a  portrait,"  Mr.  Morton  said,  ad- 
vancing, while  his  heart  leaped  with  a  new  and 
sudden  fear. 

"  If  it  is,  Mr.  Morton,  it  is  a  valuable  picture, 
worth  every  cent  of  two  hundred  dollars.  "We 
cannot  pass  that,  Sir." 

""What !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morton,  "  take  my 
Willie's  portrait  ?  0  no,  you  cannot  do  that !" 

"  It  is  no  doubt  a  hard  case,  Mr.  Morton,"  said 
one  of  the  trustees.  "  But  we  must  do  our  duty, 
however  painful.  That  picture  is  a  most  beau- 
tiful one,  and  by  a  favourite  artist,  and  will  bring 
at  least  two  hundred  dollars.  It  is  not  a  neces- 
sary article  of  household  furniture,  and  is  not 


THE    PORTRAIT  349 

covered  by  the  law.  We  should  be  censured,  and 
justly  too,  if  we  were  to  pass  it." 

For  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Morton's  thoughts 
were  so  bewildered  and  his  feelings  so  benumbed 
by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  shock,  that  he 
could  not  rally  his  mind  enough  to  decide  what 
to  say  or  how  to  act  To  have  the  unfeeling  hands 
of  creditors,  under  the  sanction  of  the  law,  seize 
upon  his  lost  Willie's  portrait,  was  to  him  so  un- 
expected and  sacrilegious  a  thing,  that  he  could 
scarcely  realize  it,  and  he  stood  wrapt  in  painful, 
dreamy  abstraction,  until  roused  by  the  direction, 

"  Put  it  down  at  a  hundred  and  fifty,"  given 
to  the  appraiser,  by  one  of  the  trustees. 

"  Are  your  hearts  made  of  iron  ?"  he  asked 
bitterly,  roused  at  once  into  a  distinct  conscious- 
ness of  what  was  transpiring. 

"  Be  composed,  Mr.  Morton,"  was  the  cold, 
quiet  reply. 

"  And  thus  might  the  executioner  say  to  the 
victim  he  was  torturing — Be  composed.  But 
surely,  when  I  tell  you  that  that  picture  is  the 
likeness  of  my  youngest  child,  now  no  more,  you 
will  not  take  it  from  us-  To  lose  that,  would 
break  his  mother's  heart.  Take  all  the  rest,  and 


350  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

I  will  not  murmur.  But  in  the  name  of  humanity 
spare  me  the  portrait  of  my  angel  boy." 

There  was  a  brief,  cold,  silent  pause,  and  the 
trustees  continued  their  investigations.  Sick  at 
heart,  Mr.  Morton  turned  from  them  and  sought 
his  family.  The  distressed,  almost  agonized  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  was  noticed,  as  he 
came  into  the  chamber  where  they  had  retired. 

"  Is  it  all  over  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Morton. 

"  Not  yet,"  was  the  sad  answer. 

The  mother  and  daughter  knew  how  much 
their  father  prized  his  choice  collection  of  pictures, 
and  supposed  that  giving  an  inventory  of  them 
had  produced  the  pain  that  he  seemed  to  feel. 
Of  the  truth,  they  had  not  the  most  distant  idea. 
For  a  few  minutes  he  sat  with  them,  and  then, 
recovering  in  some  degree,  his  self-possession,  he 
returned  and  kept  with  the  trustees,  until  every- 
thing in  the  house  that  could  be  taken,  was  val- 
ued. He  closed  the  door  after  them,  when  they 
left,  and  again  returned  to  his  family. 

"  Have  they  gone  ?"  asked  Constance,  in  a  low, 
almost  whispering  voice. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  they  have  gone  at  last." 

"  And  what  have  they  left  us  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Morton,  somewhat  anxiously. 


THE   PORTRAIT.  351 

"  Nothing  but  the  barest  necessaries  for  house- 
keeping." 

"  They  did  not  take  our  carpets  and " 

"Yes,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Morton  interrupting 
her,  "  every  article  in  the  parlors  has  been  set 
down  as  unnecessary." 

"  0,  father !"  exclaimed  the  eldest  daughter, 
"  can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  it  is  possible.  We  are  left 
*poor,  indeed.  But  for  all  that  I  would  not  care, 
if  they  had  only  left  us  Willie's  portrait !" 

Instantly  the  mother  and  daughters  rose  to  their 
feet,  with  blanched  cheeks,  and  eyes  staring  wildly 
into  the  father's  face. 

"  0  no,  not  Willie's  portrait,  surely !"  the 
mother  at  length  said,  mournfully.  "  We  cannot 
give  that  up.  It  is  of  no  comparative  value  to 
others,  and  is  all  in  all  to  us." 

"  I  plead  with  them  to  spare  us  that.  But  it 
was  no  use,"  Mr.  Morton  replied.  "  The  ten- 
derest  ties  in  nature  were  nothing  to  them  in 
comparison  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"  But  surely,"  urged  Constance,  "the  law  will 
protect  us  in  the  possession  of  the  picture.  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  portrait  being  seized  upon  by  a 
creditor  ?" 


352  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  It  is  a  cruel  omission ;  but  nevertheless,  Con- 
stance, there  is  no  law  to  protect  us  in  keeping 
it." 

"  But  they  shall  not  have  it !"  Mary  said  indig- 
nantly. "  I  will  take  it  away  this  very  night, 
where  they  can  never  find  it." 

"  That  would  be  doing  wrong  my  child,"  Mr. 
Morton  replied.  "  I  owe  these  men,  and  this 
picture,  they  say,  will  bring  a  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  If  they  claim  it,  then,  I  cannot  honestly 
withhold  it.  Let  us,  then,  my  dear  Children,  re- 
solve to  keep  our  consciences  clear  of  wrong,  and 
endeavor  patiently  to  bear  with  our  afflictions. 
They  can  only  result  in  good  to  us  so  far  as  we 
humbly  acquiesce  in  them.  Nothing  happens  by 
chance.  Every  event  affecting  us,  I  have  often 
told  you,  is  ordered  or  permitted  by  Divine  Prov- 
idence, and  is  intended  to  make  us  better  and  wi- 
ser. This  severest  trial  of  all,  if  patiently  borne, 
will,  I  am  sure,  result  in  good. 

But,  even  while  he  tried  to  encourage  and  bear 
up  the  drooping  spirits  of  his  family,  his  own 
heart  sunk  within  him  at  the  thought  of  losing  the 
portrait  of  his  child. 

One  week  sufficed  to  transfer  his  property  into 
the  hands  of  the  individuals  appointed  to  receive 


THE   PORTRAIT.  353 

it.  He  sought  to  make  no  unnecessary  delay, 
and,  therefore,  it  was  quickly  done.  At  the  end 
of  that  time,  he  removed  his  family  into  a  small 
house  at  the  northern  extremity  of  the  city,  and 
furnished  it  with  the  scanty  furniture  that,  as  an 
insolvent  debtor  the  law  allowed  him  to  claim. 
Ere  he  left  his  beautiful  mansion  with  his  wife 
and  children,  they  all  assembled  in  the  parlour 
where  still  hung  Willie's  sweet  portrait.  The 
calm,  innocent  face  of  the  child  had  for  their  eyes 
a  melancholy  beauty,  such  as  it  had  never  worn 
before ;  and  they  gazed  upon  it  until  every  'cheek 
was  wet,  and  every  heart  oppressed.  A  sale  of 
the  furniture  had  been  advertised  for  that  day, 
and  already  the  house  had  been  thrown  open. 
Several  strangers  had  come  in  to  make  examina- 
tions before  the  hour  of  sale,  and  among  them 
was  a  young  man,  who  on  observing  the  family  in 
the  parlour,  instinctively  withdrew ;  not,  however 
before  he  had  glanced  at  the  picture  they  were 
all  looking  at  so  earnestly.  Aware  that  strangers 
were  gathering,  Mr.  Morton  and  his  family  soon 
withdrew,  each  taking  a  last,  lingering,  tearful 
glance  at  the  dear  face  looking  so  sweet,  so  calm, 
so  innocent. 

Their  new  home  presented  a  painful  and  dreary 


354  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

contrast  to  the  one  from  which  they  had  just  part- 
ed. In  the  parlours,  the  floors  of  which  were  all 
uncarpeted  there  were  a  dozen  chairs,  and  a  ta- 
ble, and  that  was  all !  Bedding  barely  enough 
for  the  family,  with  but  scanty  furniture,  sufficed 
for  the  chambers ;  and  the  same  exacting  hands 
had  narrowed  down  to  a  stinted  remnant  the  ap- 
pendages of  the  kitchen. 

It  was  an  hour  after  the  closing  in  of  evening, 
and  the  family  greatly  depressed  in  spirits,  were 
gathered  in  one  of  the  chambers,  sad,  gloomy, 
and  silent,  when  the  servant  which  they  had  re- 
tained came  in  and  said  that  Mr.  Wilkinson*  was 
\ 

below  and  wished  to  see  Miss  Constance. 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  mother,  I  cannot  see  him  !" 
Constance  said  bursting  into  tears.  "  It  is  cruel 
for  him  to  come  here  so  soon,"  she  added,  after 
she  had  a  little  regained  her  self-possession, 

"  You  can  do  no  less  than  see  him  Constance," 
her  mother  said.  "  Do  not  lose  that  conscious- 
ness of  internal  truth  of  character  which  alone  can 
sustain  you  in  your  new  relations.  You  are  not 
changed,  even  if  outward  circumstances  are  no 

O  ' 

longer  as  they  were.  And  if  Mr.  Wilkinson  does 
not  regard  these  do  not  you.  Meet  him  my  child, 
as  you  have  ever  met  him." 


THE    PORTRAIT.  355 

"  We  have  only  met  as  friends,"  Constance  re- 
plied, while  her  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  her  ef- 
forts to  be  calm. 

"  Then  meet  now  as  friends,  and  equals.  Re- 
member, that,  all  that  is  of  real  worth  in  you  re- 
mains. Adversity  cannot  rob  you  of  your  true 
character." 

"  Your  mother  has  spoken  well  and  wisely," 
Mr.  Morton  said.  "  If  Mr.  Wilkinson,  whom  I 
know  to  be  a  man  of  most  sterling  integrity  of 
character,  still  wishes  your  society,  or  ours,  it 
must  not,  from  any  foolish  pride  or  weakness  on 
our  part,  be  denied." 

"  Then  I  will  see  him,  and  try  to  meet  him  as 
I  should,  though  I  feel  that  the  task  will  be  a 
hard  one,"  Constance  replied.  And  her  pale 
cheek  and  swimming  eye,  told  but  too  well,  that 
it  would  need  all  her  efforts  to  main-tain  her  self- 
possession. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  descended  and  met  Mr. 
Wilkinson  in  the  parlour. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said  advancing  and  taking 
her  hand  as  she  entered,  "  for  so  soon  intruding 
upon  you  after  the  sad  change  in  your  condition. 
But  I  should  have  been  untrue  to  th".  kind  feel- 
ings I  bear  yourself  and  family,  had  I,  from  a 


355  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

principle  of  false  delicacy,  staid  away.  I  trust 
I  shall  be  none  the  less  welcome  now  than  be- 
fore." 

"  We  must  all  esteem  the  kindness  that  prompt- 
ed your  visit,"  Constance  replied  with  a  strong 
effort  to  subdue  the  troubled  emotions  within, 
and  which  were  but  too  plainly  indicated,  by  her 
now  flushed  cheek  and  trembling  lips. 

"  No  other  feeling  induced  me  to  call,  except 
indeed,  one  stronger  than  that  possibly  could 
be — "  Mr.  Wilkinson  said,  still  holding  her  hand, 
and  looking  intently  in  her  face — "  the  feeling  of 
profound  regard,  nay,  I  must  call  it,  affection, 
which  I  have  long  entertained  for  you." 

A  declaration  so  unexpected,  under  the  circum- 
stances, entirely  destroyed  all  further  efforts  on 
the  part  of  Constance,  to  control  her  feelings. 
She  burst  into  tears,  but  did  not  attempt  to  with- 
draw her  hand. 

"  Can  I  hope  for  a  return  of  like  sentiment, 
Constance  ?"  he  at  length  said,  tenderly. 

A  few  moments'  silence  ensued,  when  the  weep- 
ing girl  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  him  in  the 
face  with  eyes,  though  filled  with  tears,  full  of 
love's  tenderpet  expression. 


THE   PORTRAIT.  357 

"  I  still  confide  in  my  father,  Mr.  "Wilkinson,' 
was  her  answer. 

"  Then  I  would  see  your  father  to-night." 

Instantly  Constance  glided  from  the  room,  anu 
in  a  few  minutes  her  father  came  down  into  the 
parlour.  A  long  conference  ensued  ;  and  then 
the  mother  was  sent  for,  and  finally  Constance 
again.  Mr.  Wilkinson  made  offers  of  marriage, 
which,  being  accepted,  he  urged  an  immediate 
consummation.  Delay  was  asked,  but  he  was  so 
earnest,  that  all  parties  agreed  that  the  wedding 
should  take  place  in  three  days. 

In  three  days  the  rite  was  said,  and  "Wilkinson, 
one  of  the  most  prosperous  young  merchants  of 
Philadelphia,  left  for  New  York  with  his  happy 
bride.  A  week  soon  glided  away,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  they  returned. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?"  Constance  asked,  as 
they  entered  a  carriage  on  landing  from  the  steam- 
boat. 

"  To  our  own  house,  of  course  1"  was  her  hus- 
band's reply. 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  that  you  had  taken  a 
house,  and  furnished  it." 

"  Didn't  I  ?    Well,  that  is  something  of  an 


358  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

oversight.  But  you  hardly  thought  that  I  was 
BO  simple  as  to  catch  a  bird  without  having  a 
cage  first  provided  for  it." 

"  You  had  but  little  time  to  get  the  cage," 
thought  Constance,  but  she  did  not  utter  the 
thought. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  stopped  before 
a  noble  dwelling,  the  first  glance  of  which  bewil- 
dered the  senses  of  the  young  bride,  and  caused 
her  to  lean  silent  and  trembling  upon  her  hus- 
band's arm,  as  she  ascended  the  broad  marble 
steps  leading  to  the  entrance.  Thence  she  was 
ushered  hurriedly  into  the  parlours. 

There  stood  her  father,  mother,  and  sisters, 
ready  to  receive  her.  There  was  every  article  of 
furniture  in  its  place,  as  she  had  left  it  but  a  little 
over  a  week  before.  The  pictures,  so  much  ad- 
mired by  her  father,  still  hung  on  the  wall ;  and 
there,  in  the  old  spot,  was  Willie  s  dear  portrait, 
as  sweet,  as  innocent,  as  tranquil  as  ever !  One 
glance  took  in  all  this.  In  the  next  moment  she 
fell  weeping  upon  her  mother's  bosom. 

A  few  words  will  explain  all.  Mr.  "Wilkinson, 
who  was  comparatively  wealthy,  was  just  on  the 
eve  of  making  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Constance 
Morton,  when  the  sudden  reverse  overtook  her 


THE    PORTRAIT.  359 

father,  and  prostrated  the  hopes  of  the  whole 
family.  But  his  regard  was  a  true  one,  and  not 
to  be  marred  or  effaced  by  external  changes. 
When  he  saw  the  sale  of  the  house  and  furniture 
announced,  he  determined  to  buy  all  in  at  any 
price.  And  he  did  so.  On  the  day  of  the  sale, 
he  bid  over  every  competitor. 

On  the  night  of  his  interview  with  Constance  and 
her  father,  he  proposed  a  partnership  with  the 
latter. 

"  But  I  have  nothing,  you  know,  Mr.  "Wilkin- 
son," he  replied. 

"  You  have  established  business  habits,  and 
extensive  knowledge  of  the  operations  of  trade, 
and  a  large  business  acquaintance.  And  besides 
these,  habits  of  discrimination  obtained  by  long 
experience,  which  I  need.  With  your  co-opera- 
tion in  my  business,  I  can  double  my  profits. 
Will  you  join  me  ?" 

"  It  were  folly,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  to  say  nay," 
Mr.  Morton  replied.  "  Then  I  will  announce  the 
co-partnership  at  once,"  he  said. 

And  it  was  announced  before  the  day  of  mar- 
riage, but  Constance  did  not  see  it. 

A  happy  elevation  succeeded  of  course,  the 
sudden,  painful,  but  brief  depression  of  their  for 


360  flOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

tunes.  Nor  was  any  of  that  tried  family  less 
happy  than  before.  And  one  was  far  happier. 
Still,  neither  Mr.  Morton,  nor  the  rest  could 
ever  look  at  Willie's  portrait  without  remember- 
ing how  near  they  had  once  been  to  losing  it,  nor 
without  a  momentary  fear,  that  some  change  in 
life's  coming  mutations  might  rob  them  of  the 
precious  treasure,  now  doubly  dear  to  them. 


VEEY   P  OOE. 


"  WHAT  has  become  of  the  Wightmans  ?"  I 
asked  of  my  old  friend  Payson.  I  had  returned  to 
my  native  place  after  an  absence  of  several  years. 
Payson  looked  grave. 

"  Nothing  wrong  with  them,  I  hope.  Wight- 
man  was  a  clever  man,  and  he  had"  a  pleasant 
family." 

My  friend  shook  his  head  ominously. 

"  He  was  doing  very  well  when  I  left,"  said  I. 

"  All  broken  up  now,"  was  answered.  "  He 
failed  several  years  ago." 

c<  Ah  !  I'm  sorry  to  hear  this.    What  has  be- 
come of  him  ?" 
16 


.12  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

"  I  see  him  now  and  then,  but  I  don't  know 
what  he  is  doing." 

"  And  his  family  ?" 

"  They  live  somewhere  in  Old  Town.  I  havn't 
met  any  of  them  for  a  long  time.  Some  one  told 
me  that  they  were  very  poor." 

This  intelligence  caused  a  feeling  of  sadness  to 
pervade  my  mind.  The  tone  and  manner  of  Pay- 
eon,  as  he  used  the  words  "  very  poor,"  gave  to 
them  more  than  ordinary  meaning.  I  saw,  in 
imagination,  my  old  friend  reduced  from  comfort 
and  respectability,  to  a  condition  of  extreme  pov- 
erty, with  all  its  sufferings  and  humiliations. 
While  my  mind  was  occupied  with  these  unpleas- 
ant thoughts,  my  friend  said, 

*'  You  must  dine  with  me  to-morrow.  Mrs. 
Payson  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  I  want  to 
have  a  long  talk  about  old  times.  We  dine  at 
three." 

I  promised  to  be  with  them,  in  agreement  with 
the  invitation ;  and  then  we  parted.  It  was  during 
business  hours,  and  as  my  friend's  manner  was 
somewhat  occupied  and  hurried,  I  did  not  think' 
it  right  to  trespass  on  his  time.  What  I  had 
learned  of  the  Wightmans  troubled  my  thoughts. 
I  could  not  get  them  out  of  my  mind.  They  were 


VERY   POOR.  363 

estimable  people.  I  had  prized  them  above  ordi- 
nary acquaintances;  and  it  did  seem  peculiarly 
hard  that  they  should  have  suffered  misfortune 
"  Very  poor" — I  could  not  get  the  words  out  of 
my  ears.  The  way  in  which  they  were  spoken 
involved  more  than  the  words  themselves  ex- 
pressed, or  rather,  gave  a  broad  latitude  to  their 
meaning.  "  VERY  poor  !  Ah  me  !"  The  sigh 
was  deep  and  involuntary. 

I  inquired  of  several  old  acquaintances  whom  I 
met  during  the  day  for  the  Wightmans ;  but  all 
the  satisfaction  I  received  was,  that  Wightman 
had  failed  in  business  several  years  before,  and 
was  now  living  somewhere  in  Old  Town  in  a  very 
poor  way.  "  They  are  miserably  poor,"  said  one. 
"  I  see  "Wightman  occasionally,"  said  another — 
"  he  looks  seedy  enough."  "  His  girls  take  in 
sewing,  I  have  heard,"  said  a  third,  who  spoke  with 
a  slight  air  of  contempt,  as  if  there  were  some- 
thing disgraceful  attached  to  needle-work,  when 
pursued  as  a  means  of  livelihood.  I  would  have 
called  during  the  day,  upon  Wightman,  but  failed 
to  ascertain  his  place  of  residence. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  !"  Payson  extended  his  hand 
with  a  show  of  cordiality,  as  I  entered  his  store 
between  two  and  three  o'clock, on  the  next  day 


364  HOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 

"  Sit  down  and  look  over  the  papers  for  a  little 
•while,"  he  added.  "  ['11  be  with  you  in  a  moment. 
Just  finishing  up  my  bank  business." 

"  Business  first,"  was  my  answer,  as  I  took  the 
proffered  newspaper.  "  Stand  upon  no  ceremony 
•with  me." 

As  Payson  turned  partly  from  me,  and  bent 
his  head  to  the  desk  at  which  he  was  sitting,  I 
could  not  but  remark  the  suddenness  with  which 
the  smile  my  appearance  had  awakened  faded 
from  his  countenance.  Before  him  was  a  pile  of 
bank  bills,  several  checks,  and  quite  a  formidable 
array  oi  bank  notices.  He  counted  the  bills  and 
checks,  and  after  recording  the  amount  upon  a 
slip  of  paper  glanced  uneasily  at  his  watch,  sighed, 
and  then  looked  anxiously  towards  the  door.  At 
this  moment  a  clerk  entered  hastily,  and  made 
some  communication  in  an  undertone,  which 
brought  from  my  friend  a  disappointed  and  im- 
patient expression. 

"  Go  to  Wilson,"  said  he  hurriedly,  "  and  tell 
him  to  send  me  a  check  for  five  hundred  without 
fail.  Say  that  I  am  so  much  short  in  my  bank 
payments,  and  that  it  is  now  too  late  to  get  th 


VERT    POOR  365 

mohey  any  where  else.     Don't  linger  a  moment ; 
it  is  twenty  five  minutes  to  three  now." 

The  clerk  departed.  He  was  gone  full  ten  min- 
utes, during  which  period  Payson  remained  at 
his  desk,  silent,  but  showing  many  signs  of  uneas- 
iness. On  returning,  he  brought  the  desired  check, 
and  was  then  dispatched  to  lift  the  notes  for 
which  this  late  provision  was  made. 

"What  a  life  for  a  man  to  lead,"  said  my  friend, 
turning  to  me  with  a  contracted  brow  and  a  sober 
face.  "  I  sometimes  wish  myself  on  an  island  in 
mid  ocean.  You  remember  C ?" 

«  Very  well." 

"  He  quit  business  a  year  ago,  and  bought  a 
farm.  I  saw  him  the  other  day.  '  Payson,'  said 
he,  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  '  I  haven't  seen  a 
bank  notice  this  twelvemonth.'  He's  a  happy 
man  !  This  note  paying  is  the  curse  of  my  life. 
I'm  forever  on  the  street  financiering — Financier- 
ing. How  I  hate  the  word  !  But  come — they'll 
be  waiting  dinner  for  us.  Mrs.  Payson  is  de- 
lighted at  the  thought  of  seeing  you.  How  long 
is  it  since  you  were  here  ?  About  ten  years,  if 
I'm  not  mistaken.  You'll  find  my  daughters 
quite  grown  up.  Clara  is  in  her  twentieth  year, 


366  HOME   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

You,  of  course,  recollect  her  only  as  a  school  girl 
Ah  me  !  how  time  does  fly  !" 

I  found  my  friend  living  in  a  handsome  house 
in  Franklin  street.  It  was  showily,  not  tastefully, 
furnished,  and  the  same  might  be  said  of  his  wife 
and  daughters.  When  I  last  dined  with  them — 
it  was  many  years  before — they  were  living  in  a 
modest,  but  very  comfortable  way,  and  the  whole 
air  of  their  dwelling  was  that  of  cheerfulness  and 
comfort.  Now,  though  their  ample  parlors  were 
gay  with  rich  Brussels,  crimson  damask,  and  bro- 
catelle,  there  was  no  genuine  home  feeling  there. 
Mrs.  Payson,  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  wore  a 
mousseline  de  lain,  of  subdued  colors,  a  neat  lace 
collar  around  her  neck,  fastened  with  a  small  dia- 
mond pin,  the  marriage  gift  of  her  father.  Her 
hair,  which  curled  naturally,  was  drawn  behind 
her  ears  in  a  few  gracefully  falling  ringlets.  She 
needed  no  other  ornament.  Anything  beyond 
would  have  taken  from  her  the  chiefest  of  her 
attractions,  her  bright,  animated  countenance,  in 
which  her  friends  ever  read  a  heart-welcome. 

How  changed  from  this  was  the  rather  stately 
woman,  whose  real  pleasure  at  seeing  an  old 
friend  was  hardly  warm  enough  to  melt  through 
the  ice  of  an  imposed  formality.  How  changed 


VERY    POOR.  367 

from  this  the  pale,  cold,  worn  face,  where  selfish- 
ness and  false  pride  had  been  doing  a  sad,  sad 
work.  Ah  !  the  rich  Honiton  lace  cap  and  costly 
cape  ;  the  profusion  of  gay  ribbons,  and  glitter  of 
jewelry ;  the  ample  folds  of  glossy  satin ;  how 
poor  a  compensation  were  they  for  the  true  wo- 
man I  had  parted  with  a  few  years  ago,  and  now 
sought  beneath  these  showy  adornments  in  vain  1 

Two  grown-up  daughters,  dressed  almost  as 
flauntingly  as  their  mother,  were  now  presented. 
In  the  artificial  countenance  of  the  oldest,  I  failed 
to  discover  any  trace  of  my  former  friend  Clara. 

A  little  while  we  talked  formally,  and  with  some 
constraint  all  round  ;  then,  as  the  dinner  had  been 
waiting  us,  and  was  now  served,  we  proceeded  to 
the  dining-room.  I  did  not  feel  honored  by  the 
really  sumptuous  meal  the  Paysons  had  provided 
for  their  old  friend ;  because  it  was  clearly  to  be 
seen  that  no  honor  was  intended.  The  honor  was 
all  for  themselves.  The  ladies  had  not  adorned 
their  persons,  nor  provided  their  dinner,  to  give 
me  welcome  and  pleasure,  but  to  exhibit  to  the  eyes 
of  their  guest,  their  wealth,  luxury,  and  social 
importance.  If  I  had  failed  to  perceive  this,  the 
conversation  of  the  Paysons  would  have  made  it 
plain,  for  it  was  of  style  and  elegance  in  house 


368  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

keeping  and  dress — of  the  ornamental  in  all  its 
varieties ;  and  in  no  case  of  the  truly  domestic  and 
useful.  Once  or  twice  I  referred  to  the  "Wight- 
mans  ;  but  the  ladies  knew  nothing  of  them,  and 
seemed  almost  to  have  forgotten  that  such  per- 
sons ever  lived. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  discover  that,  with  all 
the  luxury  by  which  my  friends  were  surrounded, 
they  were  far  from  being  happy.  Mrs.  Payson 
and  her  daughters,  had,  I  could  see,  become  en- 
vious as  well  as  proud.  They  wanted  a  larger 
house,  and  more  costly  furniture  in  order  to  make 
as  imposing  an  appearance  as  some  others  whom 
they  did  not  consider  half  as  good  as  themselves. 
To  all  they  said  on  this  subject,  I  noticed  that 
Payson  himself  maintained,  for  the  most  part,  a 
half-moody  silence.  It  was,  clearly  enough,  un- 
pleasant to  him. 

"  My  wife  and  daughters  think  I  am  made  of 
money,"  said  he,  once,  half  laughing.  "  But  if 
they  knew  how  hard  it  was  to  get  hold  of,  some- 
times, they  would  be  less  free  in  spending.  I  tell 
them  I  am  a  poor  man,  comparatively  speaking 
but  I  might  as  well  talk  to  the  wind." 

"  Just  as  well,"  replied  his  wife,  forcing  an  m 


VERY    POOR.  369 

credulous  laugh ;  "  why  will  you  use  such  Ian 
guage  ?  A  poor  man  !" 

"  He  that  wants  what  he  is  not  able  to  buy,  is 
a  poor  man,  if  I  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
term,"  said  Payson,  with  some  feeling.  "  And 
he  who  lives  beyond  his  income,  as  a  good  many 
of  our  acquaintances  do  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
is  poorer  still." 

"  Now  don't  get  to  riding  that  hobby,  Mr. 
Payson,"  broke  in  my  friend's  wife,  deprecat- 
ingly — "  don't,  if  you  please.  In  the  first  place, 
it's  hardly  polite,  and,  in  the  second  place,  it  is 
by  no  means  agreeable.  Don't  mind  him  " — and 
the  lady  turned  to  me  gaily — "  he  gets  in  these 
moods  sometimes." 

I  was  not  surprised  at  this  after  what  I  had  wit- 
nessed, about  his  house.  Put  the  scenes  and 
circumstances  together,  and  how  could  it  well  be 
otherwise  ?  My  friend,  thus  re-acted  upon,  ven- 
tured no  further  remark  on  a  subject  that  was  so 
disagreeable  to  his  family.  But  while  they  talked 
of  style  and  fashion,  he  sat  silent,  and  to  my  mind 
oppressed  with  no  very  pleasant  thoughts.  After 
the  ladies  had  retired,  he  said,  with  considerable 
feeling — 

"  All  this  looks  and  sounds  very  well,  perhaps; 
16* 


970  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

but  there  are  two  aspects  to  almost  everything. 
My  wife  and  daughters  get  one  view  of  life,  and 
I  another.     They  see  the  romance,  I  the   hard 
reality.     It  is  impossible  for  me  to  get  money  as 
fast  as  they  wish  to  spend  it.    It  was  my  fault  in 
the  beginning,  I  suppose.    Ah  1  how  difficult  it  is 
to  correct  an  error  when  once  made.    I  tell  them 
that  I  am  a  poor  man,  but  they  smile  in  my  face, 
and  ask  me  for  a  hundred  dollars  to  shop  with  in 
the  next  breath.  I  remonstrate,  but  it  avails  not, 
for  they  don't  credit  what  I  say.  AND  I  AM  POOR— 
poorer,  I  sometimes  think,  than  the  humblest  of 
iny  clerks,  who  manages,  out  of  his  salary  of  four 
hundred  a  year,  to  lay  up  fifty  dollars.     He  is 
never  in  want  of  a  dollar,  while  I  go  searching 
about,  anxious  and  troubled,  for  my  thousands 
daily.     He  and  his  patient,  cheerful,  industrious 
little  wife  find  peace  and  contentment  in  the  sin- 
gle room  their  limited  means  enables  them  to  pro- 
cure, while  my  family  turn  dissatisfied  from  the 
costly  adornments  of  our  spacious  home,  and  sigh 
for  richer  furniture,  and  a  larger  and  more  showy 
mansion.     If  I  were  a  millionaire,  their  ambition 
might  be  satisfied.  Now,  their  ample  wishes  may 
not  be  filled.     I  must  deny  them,  or  meet  inevit- 
able ruin.    As  it  is,  I  am  living  far  beyond  a  pru- 


VERY   POOR.  371 

dent  limit — not  half  so  far,  however,  as  many 
around  me,  whose  fatal  example  is  ever  tempting 
the  weak  ambition  of  their  neighbors." 

This  and  much  more  of  similar  import,  was 
said  by  Payson.  When  I  returned  from  his  ele- 
gant home,  there  was  no  envy  in  my  heart.  He 
was  called  a  rich  and  prosperous  man  by  all 
whom  I  heard  speak  of  him,  but  in  my  eyes,  he 
was  very  poor. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  I  saw  "Wightman  in 
the  street.  He  was  so  changed  in  appearance 
that  I  should  hardly  have  known  him,  had  he  not 
first  spoken.  He  looked  in  my  eyes,  twenty  years 
older  than  when  we  last  met.  His  clothes  were 
poor,  though  scrupulously  clean ;  and,  on  observ- 
ing him  more  closely,  I  perceived  an  air  of  neat- 
ness and  order,  that  indicates  nothing  of  that  dis- 
regard about  external  appearance  which  so  often 
accompanies  poverty. 

He  grasped  my  hand  cordially,  and  inquired, 
with  a  genuine  interest,  after  my  health  and  wel- 
fare. I  answered  briefly,  and  then  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  it  is  not  so  well  with 
you  in  worldly  matters  as  when  I  left  the  city." 

A  slight  shadow  flitted  over  his  countenance, 
but  it  grew  quickly  cheerful  again. 
16* 


372  HOME   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS. 

"  One  of  the  secrets  of  happiness  in  this  life," 
said  he,  "  is  contentment  with  our  lot.  We  rarely 
learn  this  in  prosperity.  It  is  not  one  of  the  les- 
sons taught  in  that  school." 

"  And  you  htrve  learned  it  ?"  said  I. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  learn  it,"  he  answered, 
smiling.  "  But  I  find  it  one  of  the  most  difficult 
of  lessons.  I  do  not  hope  to  acquire  it  perfectly." 

A  cordial  invitation  to  visit  his  family  and  take 
tea  with  them  followed,  and  was  accepted.  I 
must  own,  that  I  prepared  to  go  to  the  Wight- 
mans  with  some  misgivings  as  to  the  pleasure  I 
should  receive.  Almost  every  one  of  their  old 
acquaintances,  to  whom  I  had  addressed  inqui- 
ries on  the  subject,  spoke  of  them  with  commis- 
eration, as  "  very  poor."  If  Wightrnan  could  bear 
the  change  with  philosophy,  I  hardly  expected  to 
find  the  same  Christian  resignation  in  his  wife, 
whom  I  remembered  as  a  gay,  lively  woman,  fond 
of  social  pleasures. 

Such  were  ray  thoughts  when  I  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  small  house,  that  stood  a  little  back 
from  the  street.  It  was  quickly  opened  by  a  tall, 
neatly-dressed  girl,  whose  pleasant  face  lighted 
into  a  smile  of  welcome  as  she  pronounced  my 
name. 


VERY   POOR.  373 

"  This  is  not  Mary  ?"  I  said  as  I  took  her  prof 
fered  hand. 

Yes,  this  is  your  little  Mary,"  she  answered. 
"  Father  told  me  you  were  coming." 

Mrs.  "Wightman  came  forward  as  I  entered  the 
room  into  which  the  front  door  opened,  and  gave 
me  a  most  cordial  welcome.  Least  of  all  had 
time  and  reverses  changed  her.  Though  a  little 
subdued,  and  rather  paler  and  thinner,  her  face 
had  the  old  heart-warmth  in  it — the  eyes  were 
bright  from  the  same  cheerful  spirit. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again !"  said  Mrs. 
Wightman.  And  she  was  glad.  Every  play  of 
feature,  every  modulation  of  tone,  showed  this. 

Soon  her  husband  came  in,  and  then  she  ex- 
cused herself  with  a  smile,  and  went  out,  as  I  very 
well  understood,  to  see  after  tea.  In  a  little  while 
supper  was  ready,  and  I  sat  down  with  the  family 
in  their  small  breakfast  room,  to  one  of  the  plea- 
santest  meals  I  have  ever  enjoyed.  A  second 
daughter,  who  was  learning  a  trade,  came  in  just 
as  we  were  taking  our  places  at  the  table,  and 
was  introduced.  What  a  beautiful  glow  was  up- 
on her  young  countenance  !  She  was  the  very 
image  of  health  and  cheerfulness. 

When  I  met  Wightman  in  the  street,  I  thought 


374  B^ME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

his  countenance  wore  something  of  a  troubled 
aspect — this  was  the  first  impression  made  upon 
mo.  Now,  as  I  looked  into  his  face,  and  listened 
to  his  cheerful,  animated  conversation,  so  full  of 
life's  true  philosophy,  I  could  not  but  feel  an 
emotion  of  wonder.  "  Very  poor !"  How  little 
did  old  friends,  who  covered  their  neglect  of  this 
family  with  these  commiserating  words,  know  of 
their  real  state.  How  little  did  they  dream  that 
sweet  peace  folded  her  wings  in  that  humble 
dwelling  nightly;  and  that  morning  brought  to 
each  a  cheerful,  resolute  spirit,  which  bore  them 
bravely  through  all  their  daily  toil. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  now  Wightman  ?" 
I  asked,  as,  after  bidding  good  evening  to  his 
pleasant  family,  I  stood  with  him  at  the  gate 
opening  from  the  street  to  his  modest  dwelling. 

"  Very  well,"  was  his  cheerful  reply.  "  It  was 
up  hill  work  for  several  years,  when  I  only  re- 
ceived five  hundred  dollars  salary  as  clerk,  and 
all  my  children  were  young.  But  now,  two  of 
them  are  earning  something,  and  I  receive  eight 
hundred  dollars  instead  of  five.  We  have  man- 
aged to  save  enough  to  buy  this  snug  little  house. 
The  last  payment  was  made  a  month  since.  I  am 
beginning  to  feel  rich."  . 


VERY    POOR.  375 

And  he  laughed  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"  Very  poor,"  1  said  to  myself,  musingly,  as  1 
walked  away  from  the  humble  abode  of  the 
Wightmans.  "  Very  poor.  The  words  have  had 
a  wrong  application." 

On  the  next  day  I  met  Payson. 

"  I  spent  last  evening  with  the  "Wightmans," 
said  I.  •  « 

"  Indeed  !  How  did  you  find  them  ?  Very 
poor,  of  course." 

"  I  have  not  met  a  more  cheerful  family  for 
years.  No,  Mr.  Payson  they  are  not '  very  poor? 
for  they  take  what  the  great  Father  sends,  and 
use  it  with  thankfulness.  Those  who  ever  want 
more  than  they  possess  are  the  very  poor.  But  such 
are  not  the  Wightmans." 

Payson  looked  at  me  a  moment  or  two  curious- 
ly, and  then  let  his  eyes  fall  to  the  ground.  A 
little  while  he  mused.  Light  was  breaking  in 
upon  him. 

"  Contented  and  thankful  1"  said  he,  lifting  his 
eyes  from  the  ground.  "  Ah  !  my  friend,  if  I  and 
mine  were  only  contented  and  thankful !" 

"  You  have  cause  to  be,"  I  remarked.  "  The 
great  Father  hath  covered  your  table  with  bles- 
sings." 


376  HOME    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

And  yet  we  are  poor — VERY  POOR,"  said  he, 
"  for  we  are  neither  contented  nor  thankful.  We 
ask  for  more  than  we  possess,  and,  because  it  is 
not  given,  we  are  fretful  and  impatient.  Yes,  yes 
— we,  not  the  Wightmans,  are  poor — very  poor." 

And  with  these  words  on  his  lips,  my  old  friend 
turned  from  me,  and  walked  slowly  away,  his  head 
bent  in  musing  attitude  to  the  ground.  Not 
long  afterwards,  I  heard  that  he  had  failed. 

"  Ah  1"  thought  I,  when  this  news  reached  me, 
"  now  you  are  poor,  VERY  poor,  indeed  !"  And  it 
was  so 


LIST    OF    VALUABLE    AND   POPTJLA&   BOOKS. 


; 

n    mm     mvmm 

TRAVELS  &  RESEARCHES 


UJtfOs  of  Soutf)  Africa 


This  is  a  work  of  thrilling  adventures  and  hair-breadth 
•scapes  among  savage  beasts  and  more  savage  men.  Dr. 
Livingstone  was  alone,  and  unaided  by  any  white  man, 
traveling  with  African  attendants,  among  different  tribes 
and  nations,  all  strange  to  him,  and  many  of  them  hostile, 
and  altogether  forming  the  most  astonishing  book  <r 
travels  the  world  has  ever  seen.  All  acknowledge  it  is 
the  most  readable  book  published.  Price  $1.25. 


NOTICES    OF     THE     PRESS. 

It  abounds  '»•  descriptions  of  strange  and  wonderful  scenes,  among  a  people  and  in  • 
•onntry  enHifiy  new  to  the  civilized  world  ;  and  altogether  we  regard  it  as  one  of  tb« 
most  interesting  books  issued  within  the  past  year.—  Dotty  Democrat,  Patterson,  NtM 
Jtrsey. 

The  eub'ects  treated  of  are  new  and  strangt,  and  take  a  deep  hold  npon  popular  feel- 
ing. The  book  is  having  a  great  run,  and  will  be  read  by  every  reading  man,  woman, 
tad  child,  in  this  as  well  as  other  lands.  —  Ashtahtda  (Ohio)  Telegraph. 

v»,ose  of  our  readers  who  would  have  a  delightful  book  for  reading  at  any  kour,  wlH 
n«t  be  disappointed  in  this  work.  —  United  States  Journal. 

This  imeresung  work  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  one.  Its  interesting  pagw  tt 
•dT*Etures  are  full  of  instruction  and  amusement.  —  Avlrurn  American. 

With  truth  we  can  say,  that  seldom  is  presented  to  the  reading  public  a  work  oon« 
Uloiug  such  a  vast  amount  of  solid  instruction  us  the  one  in  question.  —  Family  Mag* 
ttne. 

It  is  a  rich  and  valnable  book  for  the  general  reader  ;  and  the  admirable  style  in.whl«* 
Ike  pub!,  slier  has  issued  it,  will  commend  it  to  the  favor  of  thousands:  —  Christiam 


. 

Tkis  is  a  valuable  work  for  the  general  reader,  gotten  up  in  beautiful  style.  A 
Interest  i.-  given  to  this  volume  by  the  addition  of  valuable  "Historical  Notices  of  Di»- 
•overies  in  Africa."  Altogether,  it  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  work  which  would 
•ore  completely  meet  the  popular  taste  of  our  day.  Those  of  our  friends  who  hart 
pwused  "our'  copy,  speak  very  highly  of  it.  —  Fort.Edward  Inst.  Monthly. 

The  present  volume  is  a  beautiful  12mo.,  of  446  pages,  numerously  illustrated,  an4 
tontams  all  of  the  original,  except  some  of  the  more  dry,  scientific  details.  It  U  «M* 
>h*tically  an  edition  for  the  people  ;  and,  judging  from  the  rapid  sale  with  which  ^  -f 
'-  ,  it  is  folly  appro  n%ted  bj  them.—  Cfcrfettea  .freema*,  Boston. 


*        LIST  0?  VALUABLE  AND  POPULAR  BOOKS. 

T.    S.    ARTHUR'S    WORKS. 

TThe  following  List  of  Books  are  all  written  by  T.  S.  ARTHPR,  the 
well-known  author,  of  whom  it  has  been  said,  "that  dying  ht  hat 
not  writtan  a  worl  he  would  tvish  to  erase."  They  are  all  gotten  ap 
in  the  best  style  of  binding,  and  are  worthy  of  a  place  in  eT«r/ 
household.]  

TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM, 


n  ^AW  sm 

This  powerfully-written  work,  one  of  the  best  by  its  popular  Author, 
has  met  with  an  immense  sale — ten  thousand  copies  having  been 
ordered  within  a  month  of  publication.  It  is  a  large  12mo.,  illus- 
trated with  a  beautiful  Mezzotint  Engraving,  bySartain;  printed 
on  fine  white  paper,  and  bound  in  the  best  English  muslin,  gilt 
oack.  Price  $1.00. 


The  following  are  a  few  of  the  many  Notices  of  the  Press. 

Powerful  and  seasouable.  —  N.  T.  Independent. 

Its  scenes  are  painfully  graphic,  and  furnish  thrilling  arguments  for  the  temperance 
lause.  —  Norton's  Literary  Gazette. 

Written  in  the  author's  most  forcible  and  vigorous  style.  —  Lehigh  Valley  Times. 

In  the  "Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room,"  some  of  the  consequences  of  tavern-keeping,  the 
"sowing  of  the  wind"  and  "reaping  the  whirlwind,"  are  followed  by  a  "fearful  con- 
•cremation,"  and  the  "closing  scene,"  presenting  pictures  of  fearful,  thrilling  interest, 
T-Am.  Courier. 

There  is  no  exaggeration  in  these  pages  —  they  seem  to  have  been  filled  up  from  actual 
k-feservation.  —  Philadelphia.  Sun. 

We  have  read  it  with  the  most  Intense  interest,  and  commend  it  as  a  work  caltnlated 
to  do  an  immense  amount  of  good.  —  Lancaster  Express. 

We  wish  that  all  lovers  of  bar-rooms  and  rum  would  read  the  book.  It  will  pay  them 
richly  to  do  so.—  N.  ¥.  Northern  Blade. 

It  is  safflcifut  commendation  of  this  little  volume  to  say  that  it  is  from  the  graphia 
yen  of  T.  S.  Arthur,  whose  works  will  be  read  and  reread  long  after  he  has  passed 
»way.  He  is  as  true  to  nature,  as  far  as  he  attempts  to  explore  it,  as  Shakspewt 
himself;  and  «iie  works,  consequently,  have  an  immense  popularity.  —  New  Haven 


There  are  many  scenes  nnequaled  for  pathos  and  beauty.    The  death  of  little  Mary 
scarcely  be  surpassed.  —  N.  Y.  Home  Journal. 


WHAT   CAN  WOMAN  DO? 

Lime  ,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving, Price  fLW 

Ow  purpose  is  to  show,  in  a  series  of  life  pictures,  what  woman  can  do,  as  well  foi 
Mod  as  for  evil  We  desire  to  bring  her  before  you  as  a  living  entity,  that  yon  may  set 
b«r  M  sh«  is,  and  comprehend  in  some  small  degree  the  influence  (the  yields  in  the 
world's  progress  upward,  as  well  as  her  power  to  mar  the  human  goal  and  drag  it  d»w» 
t»  perdition,  w\en  n«i  own  spirit  is  darkened,  by  e;iL  rnrfioar.  ~*£}*r«uj'  JV*"»  <*• 

t 


LIST  OF  VALUABLE  AND  POPULAE  BOOKS. 
T.    S.    ARTHUR'S    WORKS—  Continued. 


ST1PS    T@W^HB> 

OB. 

RELIGION    IN    COMMON    LIFE. 


NOTICES     O7     THK     PRESS. 

It  panders  to  the  doctrines  and  tenets  of  no  particular  sect,  and  will  be  found  an 
feat  boek  to  place  in  the  hands  of  young  people. — Savannah  Georgian. 

It  is  a  work  well  calculated  to  do  good,  and  to  put  into  the  hands  of  <fce  youth  «f  UM 
•onntry. — Enquirer. 

This  work  will  interest  the  reader,  and  at  the  same  time  teach  lesions  of  practical 
Vftlue. — Ch.  ifefsenger,  VI. 

It  is  designed  to  show  that  the  beauties  and  endearments  of  Christianity  are  to  be 
developed  amid  the  stern  realities  of  every -day  life. — Vermont  Sfetsenger. 

It  is  a  timely  and  good  book,  aria  should  be  widely  read,  especially  by  young  Chris- 
Hans  — Central  Ch.  Herald,  Cincinnati. 

Mr.  Arthur  is  already  well  known  as  an  earnest  man,  whose  object  has  been  to  do 
his  part  in  spreading  the  doctrines  and  teachings  of  the  Christian  religion  ;  and  in  the 
present  volume  be  urges  the  necessity  of  charity,  and  endeavors  to  impress  upon  the 
reader  the  fact  that  religion  is  for  daily  life,  "  and  cannot  be  put  aside  at  the  tranquil 
close  of  Sabbath  evenings." — Courier  and  Enquirer. 

More  decidedly  religious  in  its  character  than  Arthur's  other  works,  though  it  ii 
neither  doctrinal  nor  sectarian. — Ch.  Ttmeg,  Chicago. 

The  pen  of  T.  8.  Arthur  nev^  tires.  In  this  new  volume,  we  preceiv*  that  he  i« 
still  laboring  s  nccessfully  in  .•  educing  brief  stories,  the  aim  of  which  is  moral.  3« 
•ays  truly,  when  he  declares  •  ii  "no  special  theology  is  taught  in  this  volume,"  by 
which  he  means,  we  suppose,  that  controverted  dogmas  are  not  introduced.  His  main 
point  is,  "  Religion,  to  be  of  any  real  use  to  a  man,  must  come  down  into  all  his.  daily 
duties,  and  regulate  his  actions  by  a  divine  standard." — Exeter  Newt  Letter. 

No  special  theology  is  taught  in  this  volume.  It  addresses  itself  to  no  particular  sect 
or  denomination.  It  has  no  aim  but  to  assist  men  to  grow  better,  and  thence,  happier.— 
Salem  Oazette. 

Arthur  has  produced  few  more  satisfactory  books  than  this. — Atlas  and  Bet. 


THE  HAND  WITHOUT  THE  HEART; 

OB, 

THE  LIFE  TRIALS  OF  JESSIE  LORING. 
Pric«, tl.OO 

The  point  of  this  story  Is  expressed  in  the  title ;  and  the  story  itself  Is  a  charply  draw* 
Illustration  of  the  folly  and  madness  of  linking  together  two  immortal  souls  by  tbt 
tough  chains  of  selfish  interest,  pride,  or  baser  passion.  The  lesson  taught  is  one  at 
deep  significance ;  and  thousands  of  hearts  will  throb  in  almost  wild  response,  to  the 
Bis  experiences  of  Jessie  Loring,  who  in  all  the  bitter  trials  of  her  unhappy  union, 
swerved  not  a  hair's  breadth  from  honor,  principle,  or  religions  duty,  though  temptation 
Mime  in  its  most  alluring  shape.  A.»  the  type  of  a  true  woman,  she  is  worthy  to  b« 
he  memory  of  every  reader. — Southern  Argus. 


THE  lOUNG   Um  IT  HOME. 

i  «oiB.  to  nrav  -  Pri<»,  $1  Of 


10       LIST  OF  VALUABLE  AND  FOFVLAB  BOOKS. 

T.    8.    ARTHUR'S    WORKS—  Continued. 


ARTHUR'S  SKETCHES 

OP 

UFB   AND   CHARACTER 

a  ottavo  volume  of  over  400  pages;  beautifully  Illustrated,  an 
Ixmud  in  the  best  English  muslin,  gilt.     Price  $2.00. 


NOTICES    OF    THB-PBESS. 

The  present  volume,  containing  more  than  four  hundred  finely-printed  octavo  pages 
W  illustrated  by  splendid  engravings,  and  made  particularly  valuable  to  those  who  lik« 
to  "see  the  face  of  him  they  talk  withal,"  by  a  correct  likeness  of  the  author,  finely  en- 
graved on  steel. — Weal's  Gazette. 

In  the  princely  mansions  of  the  Atlantic  merchants,  and  in  the  rude  log  cabins  of  th« 
backwoodsmen,  the  name  of  Arthur  is  equally  known  and  cherished  as  the  friend  of 
fittue. — Graham's  Magazine. 

We  would  not  exchange  our  copy  of  these  sketches,  with  its  story  of  "  The  Methodist 
Preacher, "  for  anyone  of  the  gilt-edged  and  embossed  Annuals  which  we  have  yet  seen. 
—Lady's  National  Magazine. 

The  first  story  in  the  volume,  entitled  "  The  Methodist  Preacher,  or  nights  and 
Rhadows  in  the  Life  of  an  Itinerant,"  is  alone  worth  the  price  of  the  work. — Evening 
Bulletin. 

It  is  emphatically  a  splendid  work. — Middletown  Whig. 

Its  worth  and  cheapness  should  place  it  in  every  person's  hands  who  desires  to  read 
«n  interesting  book. — Odd  Fellow,  Boonsboro'. 

"The  Methodist  Preacher,"  "Seed-Time  and  Harvest,"  "Dyed  in  the  Wool,"  are  full 
>f  truth  as  well  as  instruction,  and  any  one  of  them  is  worth  the  whole  price  of  tha 
rolume. — Lowell  Day-star,  Rev.  D.  O.  Eddy,  Editor. 

There  is  a  fascination  about  these  sketches  which  so  powerfully  interests  the  reader, 
that  few  who  commence  one  of  them  will  part  with  it  till  it  is  concluded ;  and  they  will 
bear  reading  repeatedly. — Norfolk  and  Portsmouth  Herald. 

Those  who  have  not  perused  these  model  stories  have  a  rich  feast  in  waiting,  and  we 
shall  be  happy  if  we  can  be  instrumental  in  pointing  them  to  it. — Family  Visitor, 
Madison,  Ga. 

No  library  for  family  reading  should  be  considered  complete  without  this  volume, 
Which  is  as  lively  and  entertaining  in  its  character,  as  it  is  salutary  in  its  influence. — 
ff.  T  Tribune. 

The  work  is  beautifully  illustrated.  Those  wno  are  at  all  acquainted  with  Arthnr'« 
writings  need  hardly  be  told  that  the  present  work  is  a  prize  to  whoever  possesses  it.— 
If.  Y.  Sun. 

We  know  no  better  book  for  the  table  of  any  family,  whether  regarded  for  its  ne» 
Wtterior  or  valuable  contents. —  Vox  Populi,  Lowell. 

The  name  of  the  author  is  in  itself  a  sufficient  recommendation  of  the  work. — La» 
pence  Sentir^H. 

T.  8.  Arthur  fs  one  of  the  best  literary  writers  of  the  age. — Watchman,  Cii-clevOit 
Ohio. 

The  name  alone  of  the  author  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  to  the  reading  public  of  Hi  «u 
passing  merit. — The  Argus  Gallatin,  Miss. 

Probably  he  has  not  written  a  line  which,  dying,  he  could  wish  to  erase. — P.irto* 
a.)  Gazette. 


THE    WITHERED     HEART. 

12mo.,  with  fine  Mezzotint  Frontispiece.     Cloth Prioe  $1.0C 

This  work  has  gone  through  several  editions  in  England  although 
published  but  a  few  weeks,  and  has  had  the  most  flattering  notice* 
Uvm  the  EuglisL  Press 


LIST   OF    VALUABLE   AND   POPULAR   BOOKS.  LI 

T.    J3.    ARTHUR'S    WORKS—  Continued. 


f*  T  i          v     nyi    <   c          e   CM>     f    <Mi>*f 
iggts  ani  Sgaktos  of  $ual  JLm. 

With  an  Autobiography  and  Portrait  of  the  Author.      Over  flv« 
hundred  pages,  octavo,  with  fine  tinted  Engravings.     Price  22.00. 

NOTICES    OF     THE     PRESS. 

Im  this  Yolnma  m*y  be  fonnd  a  "mora".  suasion,"  which  cannot  but  tffert  for  if»o4 
ftJi  who  read.  The  mechanical  execution  of  the  work  is  very  beautiful  throuKUOut.-™ 
V*v>  Haven  Palladium. 

It  i*  by  far  the  most  valuable  book  ever  published  of  his  works,  inasmuch  as  it  Is  wt> 
Hched  with  a  very  interesting,  though  brief  autobiography. — American  Courier. 

Jfo  family  library  is  complete  without  a  copy  of  this  bolk.— Scott's  Weekly  Paper. 

No  better  or  worthier  present  could  be  made  U>  the  young ;  no  offering  more  pure, 
charitable,  and  practicable  could  be  tendered  to  those  who  are  interested  in  the  trniy 
Benevolent  reforms  of  the  day. — Godey's  Lady's  Book. 

The  paper,  the  engravings,  the  binding,  and  the  literary  contents,  are  all  calculated 
to  make  it  a  favorite. — Penn.  Inquirer. 

This  volume  cannot  be  too  highly  recommended. — ff.  T.  Tribune. 

More  good  has  been  effected,  than-  by  any  other  single  medium  that  we  know  of.— 
K.  f.  Sun. 

The  work  should  be  upon  the  centre-table  of  every  parent  in  the  land. — Xationa* 
Temperance  Magazine. 


LEAVES  FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  HUMAN  LIFE, 

Large  12mo.    With  Thirty  Illustrations  and  Steel  Plate.    Price  §1.00 

A.  single  story  is  worth  the  price  charged  for  the  book. —  Union,  Netoburyport1  Mast. 
"It  includes  some  of  the  best  humorous  sketches  of  the  author." 


'The  following  Books  are  bound  in  uniform  style  as  "ARTHUR'8 
COTTAGE  LIBRARY,"  and  are  sold  in  sets,  or  separately,  each 
volume  being  complete  in  itself.  Each  volume  is  embellished 
with  a  fine  Mezzotint  Engraving.] 


TO  :P:R,OS:P:E:R,, 

AND     OTHER    TALES. 
Cloth,  12mo.,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  .....................  Price  $3.01 

TRUE  RICHES;  OR,  WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 

AND     OTHER    TALES. 
loth,  12me.    with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  ....................  Piioe 


ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD 

AND     OTHER    TAI  Eg. 
Cloth,  12mo.,  witL  Mezzotint  Engraving,    ...    .  jf-i«« 


LIST  OF  VALUABLE  AND  POPULAR  BOOKS. 


T.    S.    ARTHUR'S    WO  RKS—  Continued. 


GOLDEN  GRAINS  FROM  LIFE'S  HARVEST-FIELD. 

Bound  in  gilt  back  and  sides,  sheep,  with  a  beautiful  Mezzotint  Ka 
graying.     12mo.     Price  $1.00. 

NOTICES    OF    THE     PRESS. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  the  Golden  Grains  here  presented  to  the  reader,  tat 
ncL  M  will  be  productive  of  a  far  greater  amount  of  human  happiness  than  those  i» 
•earoh  of  which  so  many  are  willing  to  risk  domestic  peace,  health,  and  even  life  itsel 
In  a  distant  and  inhospitable  region. 

These  narratives,  like  all  of  those  which  proceed  from  th«  same  able  pen,  are  r»- 
Biarkable  not  only  for  their  entertaining  and  lively  pictures  of  actual  life,  but  for  theit 
admirable  moral  tendency. 

It  is  printed  in  excellent  style,  and  embellished  with  a  mezzotint  engraving.  We 
cordially  recommend  it  to  the  favor  of  our  readers. — Godey'g  Lady's  Magazine. 


ome  fibmj." 


I  The  following  four  volumes  contain  nearly  500  pages,  Illustrated 
with  fine  Mezzotint  Engravings.  Bound  in  the  best  manner,  and 
sold  separately  or  in  sets.  They  have  been  introduced  into  the 
District,  Sabbath-school,  and  other  Libraries,  and  are  considered 
one  of  the  best  series  of  the  author.] 

THREE    ERAS    IN    A    WOMAN'S    LIFE. 

Containing   MAIDEN,  WIFE,  and   MOTHER. 

Cloth,  12mo.,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  .....................  Price  $1.00 

"This,  by  many,  is  considered  Mr.  Arthur's  best  work." 

TALES    OF    MARRIED    LIFE. 

Containing  LOVERS  and   HUSBANDS,  SWEETHEARTS   and 
WIVES,  and  MARRIED   and   SINGLE. 

Gloth,  12mo.,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  .....................  Price  $1.00. 

"  In  this  volume  may  be  found  some  valuable  bints  for  wives  and  husbands,  as  wel 
M  the  young." 

TALES    OF    DOMESTIC    LIFE. 

Containing     MADELINE,     THE     HEIRESS,     THE     MART  If  H 
WIFE,  and  RUINED    GAMESTER. 

Cloth,  12mo.,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  ...................  Price  $1.00 

OonUins  several  sketches  of  thrilling  interest." 

TALES    OF    REAL    LIFE. 

Containing  BULL.  MARTIN,  PRIDE    and  PRINCIPLE,  MAR1 
ELLIS,  FAMILY  PRIDE,  and  ALICE  MELVILLE. 

Cloth,  12mo.,  with  Mezzotint  Engraving,  ............  .  ........  Price  $1.  Oft. 

*  Vkls  roltime  gives  ths  «rp«riene«s  of  real  life  by  nsany  who  round  not  their  ideal. 


LIST   OF   VALUABLE   AND   POPlrLAB   BOOKS. 
T     8.    ARTHUR'S    WO  RK  S—  Continued. 


A    BOOK    OF    STARTLING    INTEREST. 


THE  mm  MD  THB  DESIGN, 

A  handsome  12mo.  volume.     Price  $1.00 


In  this  exciting  story  Mr.  ABTHUB  has  taken  hold  of  the  reader'i 
Attention  with  a  more  than,  usually  vigorous  grasp,  and  keeps  him 
absorbed  to  the  end  of  the  volume.  The  book  is  one  of  START 
LING  INTEREST.  Ita  lessons  should  be 

IN  THE  HEART  OF  EVERY  MOTHER. 

Onward,  with  a  power  of  demonstration  that  makes  conviction  a 
necessity,  the  Author  sweeps  through  his  subject,  fascinating  at 
evary  step.  In  the  union  of 

THRILLING  DRAMATIC  INCIDENT, 

with  moral  lessons  of  the  highest  importance,  this  volume  standi 
forth  pre-eminent  among  the  author's  many  fine  productions. 

NOTICES     OF    THE    PBESS. 

r^au  Sw^^^cB5-£  excell*at  moral  and  religious  spirit  "^ 

This  volume  is  among  his  best  productions,  and  worthy  of  a  place  on  every  centra. 
t»W«.— Clarion,  Pa.,  Banner. 

This  is  a  most  fascinating  book,  one  which  the  reader  will  find  it  quite  bard  to  Uf 
MM*  without  reading  to  the  last  page.— Albany,  A'.  T.,  Jcurnal  and  Courier. 


THE    GOOD    TIME    COMING. 

Large  12mo.,  with  fine  Mezzotint  Frontispiece, Price  $1.00 

*t  is  like  every  thing  ernaa»4ng  from  that  source— worth  reading.— Toledo  Blade. 
It  Is  characterized  b.  *11  the  excellencies  of  hl§  style. "— Phila  Bulletin. 

K  Is  a  book  the  most  jcropulotu  parent  a»y  »i*w  ia  tb«  hand  of  hi»  Aild^-AW 
WMV  Srttrncript. 


LIST   OF   VALUABLE  AND   POPULAR   BOOKS. 


T.    S.    ARTHUR'S    W  0  R K S—  Continued. 


The  Old  Man's  Bride, Price  $1.0 

Heart  Histories  and  Life  Pictures,    -       "      1.0 

Sparing  to  Spend;  or,  The  Loftons  and 
Pinkertons,    -    - 


Home  Scenes, 


1.0 
1.0 


OF 


.Two  vols.  in  one.    By  Gen.  S.  P.  LYMAN.    Price  $1.00. 


EXTRACT  FROM  PREFACE. 

The  Personal  Memorials,  which  compose  so  large  a  portion  of 
these  volumes,  are  from  the  pen  of  Gen.  S.  P.  Lyman,  whose  inti- 
mate and  confidential  relations  with  Mr.  Webster  afford  a  sufficient 
guarantee  for  their  authenticity.  They  are  believed  by  the  publisher 
to  embrace  a  more  copious  collection  of  original  and  interesting 
memoranda,  concerning  the  life  and  character  of  the  great  States- 
man whose  recent  death  has  created  BO  deep  a  sense  of  bereavement 
throughout  the  country,  than  has  hitherto  been  given  to  the  wotld. 


COOK'S  WES  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 


Two  volumes  in  one, 


Price  $1.00 


kp  -MA-AAKA* 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


s       NO  PHONE 

•TDCMi 

i 

(    MARO  11988 

s 

!  RENEWALS 

• 

! 

-*    v 

) 

• 
( 

•..irw.AMr.FIFr, 


A     000135098     2 


-A." 

£  a 


